


The Chronicles of Valicadia 1:The Orb of Magnus

by cosmic_cube_keeper



Series: Chronicles of Valicadia [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 352,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_cube_keeper/pseuds/cosmic_cube_keeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry died.  Voldemort won.  The world burned.  A foreign magical nation sends a message into the past to rewrite the future.  However, meddling with time always has consequences.  AU, multi-xover.  Contains SLASH.  Evil!Dumbledore!  independent!powerful!dark!Harry!  Eventual Harry x M!dragonborn.  And of course, Harry raised very differently!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dire Warning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-work of the story I've been posting on FF.net, in that I've removed the Avengers from the story altogether. Though I'd written 20+ chapters, that part of the story was no longer working. This is the result. A second note, the title has been changed to better-reflect the story's concept.
> 
> Again, in case you skimmed or skipped the bit above, there is SLASH in this story, as in, boy on boy, wand on wand. If you post some sort of rant/bash/flame, then there is no hope for you. Flames will be shredded and removed. Period.
> 
> The time line has been moved forward ten years to account for technology and a few events that I wish to cover.
> 
> Finally, expect to eventually see lots of spoilers for all seven books in the Harry Potter series, and lots of spoilers from The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Additionally, expect lots of spoilers from the STARZ series “Spartacus: Blood and Sand” (these events appear much later in the story). Elements from the “Resident Evil” universe are also referenced—though I should note, since the story is told from Harry and his friends' point of view for the most part, in-depth knowledge of the crossover universes are unnecessary.
> 
> Still with me? I present, then, Part One of the Chronicles of Valicadia: The Orb of Magnus...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort achieves complete victory at Hogwarts due to a flaw in Dumbledore's grand plan; the Commonwealth of Valicadia, a magical nation founded before Hogwarts, is the last to fall, but in doing so, they dispatch a dire warning to the past through a powerful magical artefact.

* * *

* * *

****

# PROLOGUE

  


## 

February of 1435

* * *

_THE FOUNDING OF THE ORB: Part History, Part Prophecy_  
by Marcas Gervais Braccius, Royal mage-scholar to HRM Justin I  
18 February, CE1535, Royal Library and Archives at Eoforwin

_It is known the Orb of Magnus is not of this world; nothing witnessed here could ever come close to the power and beauty it radiates. To know where it originates from requires visiting a time just before the Third Servile War; a time when Rome was a republic rather than an empire._

_It was here that we see a great mage, schooled in magic beyond that of this world, assisted by a group of four mundane friends, cast a portal into the void, and draw forth the powerful magical artefact. It is unclear as to what hand moved them to purpose, but the artefact was simply buried beneath the cliffs on the southern coast of what would be Britain, where it remained for nearly a thousand years._

_Our Commonwealth was born of that great magical artefact, as it showed us the way to harness its immense potential, tame the land, carve out our great cities from beneath it, and protect it from those who would bring us harm. It has allowed us to build additional cities right under the nose of Rome itself, places which exist long after the end of the Roman empire. It has shown us the way to ensure our navy will stand unchallenged, should it be tested._

_Yet, it has equally foretold that it would be our undoing. For, a thousand years after its discovery, great and unfortunate things will befall us all. It is not written exactly what sort of misfortune will fall on our soil, but all indications bring only the worst, and perhaps the gravest of all, the end times themselves._

_Peering into the void of the future has revealed several possibilities, some more likely than others. It is noted that at least two dark mages will bring about chaos in the latter part of the twentieth century, with the second being perhaps the worst. Though our great Commonwealth has only been in existence for half of a millinium, may those reading this in the future take note and take caution, that grave events will be shaped by those dark forces._

_And lastly, I should speak of the great and powerful mage responsible for introducing the Orb of Magnus to our world. His descendants should be viewed as the birth-parents of the Commonwealth, and treated as so. Our great king has saw fit to enact ruling in that effect, to ensure the respect is given where demanded. This must be so, because we owe him a great debt that can never be repaid._

The elderly wizard put down his quill. The Commonwealth was still young, compared with other places, and yet, this text spelled out its future. The latter part of the twentieth century and the beginning of the next would bring dark times, if his visions were true. A great wizard would rise to meet the threat, this was equally certain. Would he actually succeed in defending against and eliminating the threat, though? His visions revealed not the result. The wizard would be surrounded by a powerful circle of friends, some of them magical, some not. And perhaps, that would make all the difference in the world.

* * *

****

#  **1: A DIRE WARNING**

****  


**May 2008 – March 2014 / January – July 1996**

* * *

> “ _Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer.”_  
> 

  
_\- The dragon Paarthurnax, master of the Greybeards, 4E201_

_Early hours of May 2, 2008  
Hogwarts_

“Harry Potter is DEAD!” Voldemort cried, gleefully, as a sobbing Hagrid was led out into the middle of the ruined courtyard of the castle, cradling the broken body of their saviour in his massive arms. The Dark Lord's overwhelming force of Death Eaters had swelled in behind, backing out onto the debris-riddled stone bridge—all of them leered at the remaining staff and students still half-defying their master.

There were several shouts and cries from them, but that of Miss Ginny Weasley drowned them all, as she attempted to break free from her father's grip, denial written all over her face. “NO!”

“SILENCE!” And a slashing motion from the _Elder Wand_ was all it took to force the captive audience to obey. The wand was working wonders now that he was truly its master. 

“Foolish girl.”

He turned around in a circle, to survey the opposing forces.

“Harry Potter is dead,” said Voldemort, evenly and softly this time, and pointing a finger at his chest, proclaimed, “From this day forth, you put your faith... in _me_.”

From face to face, the defeated carried the look of shock and horror, as this macabre scene unfolded. They had fought with valour, but still hung their hopes on a boy barely of age—a boy saddled with a destiny since his mother gave birth to him. And in the end, it was all for nought. The dark side had won.

Hogwarts lay in ruins, its turrets and towers sustaining near catastrophic damage. The shattered Great Hall was littered with the bodies of the dead and dying, the battle being a terrible butcher to the light. The Dark Lord had attacked with overwhelming force, and while Harry's closest friends had destroyed all but one of Voldemort's special items, it was not enough. Harry lay dead in Hagrid's arms, and the monster before them was still very much untouchable.

Everything had hinged on ancient magic, cast by a powerful young witch, intent on protecting her son from certain death. Sure, it had worked for a while, but a certain ancient wizard had failed to take into account three factors. Three factors that resulted in a tragic end, and a nightmare future.

 _One_. The ancient charm placed on young Harry Potter required love to keep it alive, not just a living relative. It is without a doubt that the protections were significantly weakened by the time Harry began his magical education.

 _Two_. Tom Riddle used Harry's blood during his resurrection at the end of the Tri-wizard tournament, and in doing so, brought the same powerful protection within himself, negating what little protection remained. Had he known, he could have dealt with Harry much sooner.

 _Three_. The most important point here. Even if the protection had survived intact, it expired the moment Harry turned seventeen and became an adult.

So, when Harry walked into the clearing in the dark forest, the Dark Lord easily murdered him using the same green blast of magic which claimed his parents. It was an absolute victory.

Far worse, Tom also know Harry's friends were aware of his Horcruxes. Knowing that only Nagini remained, he placed her under the Fidelius charm, with Tom himself the keeper. It did not matter if he were to die, since really, no one else needed to know the location of the Horcrux. As long as it existed, Tom could always return to the living.

* * *

Over the next few years, the world fell into a terrible nightmare. At first, it was written up to terrorism. Yet, as more and more incidents happened, with magical government agencies unable to keep a lid on the situation, word began to spread of supernatural evil at work.

Finally, during the 2012 Olympic games in London, the Statute of Secrecy was utterly shattered once and for all, as Death Eaters stormed into Wembley Stadium during an event, and began killing participants and spectators indiscriminately. It resulted in thousands of deaths, and the carnage being broadcast live to the world. When all was said and done, the Dark Lord stood in the middle of the ruined and bloody field, declaring, “Behold, filthy Muggles, the might of magic. Declare yourselves to me... Or _die_.”

* * *

_March, 2014_  
Magnus Chamber, Trevelyan  
Commonwealth of Valicadia

Of all the magical nations, the Commonwealth of Valicadia outlasted the onslaught of the Dark Lord and his overwhelming army the longest. It had only been in recent months that the hidden magical nation at last began to fall, and only now did Voldemort close in on complete victory.

They were nearly as old as England, having been truly founded as a separate Commonwealth sometime around 900 CE. More recently, the Commonwealth had settlements on every continent, and up until a few days prior, boasted a population of 120 million citizens. Like the rest of the world, non-magical citizens severely outnumbered those who were magical, but unlike the rest of the world, there was no segregation. It had worked in the beginning, and so it was not changed, even when the Statute of Secrecy was introduced by the International Confederation of Wizards in 1692.

In fact, that piece of legislation became the sole reason for the Commonwealth's withdrawal from the international body the day it became law. It was, by their view, a form of discrimination. Valicadia's government spoke for ALL of its people, and that wasn't about to change.

That brings us back to the present, and the dire circumstance unfolding within the most vital chamber in the Commonwealth. It was a massive room with a vaulted ceiling. At its centre stood a raised platform and a shallow cradle, where upon a medium-sized sphere roughly five feet in diameter rested, or hovered. It gave off a powerful green-blue glow, being covered in symbols no one could place. The Orb of Magnus, as they had called it, was an immensely powerful artefact, the key behind some of the Commonwealth's greatest achievements. But it was also something quite dangerous, if it were ever to fall into the wrong hands.

The remainder of the room was divided up into numerous work stations, as this was a working laboratory. It was in this room the government continued to unravel the mysteries of the powerful orb. Those conducting research included non-magical scientists, as well as those from the Arcane Sciences Division—a department akin to Britain's Department of Mysteries. Just because someone wasn't magical didn't disqualify them from helping out. It was a learning experience for everyone, and that's what mattered in the end.

A set of elevators were the only way into or out of the room, requiring special government clearance to do so. The toughest security in the known world had been placed on it by goblins hired from Gringotts when the chamber was first built. Up to this point, it was impenetrable.

But this was the Dark Lord. A wizard who had done unspeakable things to become the most powerful person alive, something that was now indisputable. He'd crushed most of the opposition, whether they be magical, or not. Many places had been reduced to scorched ruins.

“Madam Guardian. They've brought down the wards,” a woman dressed in black military fatigues warned.

“HMS Arminius is ready, Madam Guardian,” spoke an individual at a nearby workstation. Guardian Elaine, the mistress of the Order of the Magnus, had known for some time this day would be at hand. The destruction of Erwin had been a terrible blow only hours before. And then Edmund fell. A terrifying warning had been dispatched just before the city was destroyed, warning the HMS Gideon had charged its main weapon over top of them. Somehow, one of their great ships had been turned against the Commonwealth. Realistically, it was the only thing that could truly destroy a city belonging to the Commonwealth, with the terrible firepower it possessed.

Now, Guardian Elaine was forced to order a similar act be committed against the Commonwealth's capitol, in the interest of preventing the Dark Lord from taking possession of a dangerous artefact.

“They're coming!” the soldier in fatigues warned again.

“Arminius is at a full charge, waiting your word, Madam Guardian. Her Majesty and critical government officials have been moved aboard the Ragnar.”

“Good to know,” answered Elaine, grimly, “The package is ready, it just needs action from the Arminius.”

The elevator doors parted, and Voldemort calmly strolled into the room, a throng of Death Eaters following behind him.

“My last conquest. You've done well to keep us at bay up until now. Surrender, and you may be spared.”

“Why would we do that, Tom?” Elaine answered calmly, “You will kill us anyway. No, you've simply made a mistake coming here today.” She gave a nod to the individual at the nearby workstation. He spoke, “Arminius go.”

“ _Copy_ ,” came the reply.

“Whatever you might have planned, it will be of no consequence,” said Voldemort, brandishing the _Elder Wand_ in front of him, “Now stand aside, woman, so I may claim my final prize.”

“My lord... do you feel that?” A blond-haired man standing just behind him questioned.

“Curious—“ It was the last thought that raced through the Dark Lord's mind, as the room and everyone in it was rendered dust by a blast of white light with the power of the sun.

The light and intense heat had not even begun to dissipate, when the Orb of Magnus simply vanished, a powerful magical enchantment having been triggered with the blast of raw power unleashed by the Arminius. It hurtled backward through time, bringing with it a message from the future... a dire warning of things to come, if certain things were not changed.

* * *

_January, 1996_  
Magnus Chamber, Trevelyan  
Commonwealth of Valicadia

It was the same room, with the same faces, discounting the eighteen year difference. Madam Elaine, mistress of the Order, was at that moment seated at her own workstation close to the centre of the room. Though several different departments conducted research within the lab, it was truly her domain, or that of the Order of the Magnus. Just about everything done with the Orb had to be approved by the Order first, meaning it had to receive her stamp of approval. It was one of numerous safeguards put in place that ensured the Orb would not be used for inappropriate activities.

“Madam Guardian!”

“Merlin's beard, what the?!”

That came with shouts from several other workstations and consoles scattered across the room, as the Orb of Magnus shimmered a brilliant orange. Then, everything seemed to come to a stand-still, as a ghostly figure began to take shape.

Elaine let out a gasp, realizing she was seeing an image of herself, from sometime in the future.

“Listen and listen well,” she proclaimed, gravely, “The Dark Lord thus far silenced at your end has returned, bringing forth destruction of all things, in an attempt to claim the Orb.”

Her figure became partially transparent, as the scene at Hogwarts replayed for them all.

“Merlin. He was _destroyed_!” another Guardian protested, “It was all over the news.”

“Yes, he was vanquished, but not for good. He has taken steps to ensure his spirit remains tethered to this world.”

“And this Harry Potter. Who is he?”

“The boy is alive here and now, but not well. This is what must change, if we are to have a chance. If not...”

A ghostly memory began to play, showing the destruction of numerous population centres across the globe, ending with satellite imagery of a smoking ruin above what would have been Erwin. The destruction had been so complete, the cliffs of Dover themselves had been destroyed, the waters of the English Channel having flooded the gaping chasm that had been created.

Silence reigned for nearly a minute, before the younger Elaine finally found her voice. The notion of what had been shown was inconceivable! Yet, it had to be so. Her future counterpart had no reason to lie.

“What would you have us do?”

“See to it that Harry is equipped with the knowledge and tools he needs to do the job he's been saddled with. Our connection with the College of Winterhold in Tamriel may come in handy here,” answered the ghostly figure.

“We will make it so. This must not be our future.”

“The government must also be aware of the situation. We'll need everyone on board if this is to work,” spoke a third Guardian, as the ghostly figure began to fade. Time and space were at last returning to normal, and the room became a flurry of activity.

“I will speak to Her Majesty at once. Guardian Danielle, please get in contact with the Department of Information, and get them up to speed with what has happened here. We'll want to begin an investigation into the boy's home life as soon as possible.”

“Yes ma'am.”

* * *

With the information at hand, the government quickly began an investigation into the home life of Harry Potter. Naturally, this was done discreetly, with the help of Her Majesty's Special Operations Unit, or SOU for short. They were the elite of the Commonwealth's military, on par with England's Special Air Service.

Quiet enquiries were also placed with Gringotts, through their branch in Erwin. Unfortunately, even with the Commonwealth's better relationship with the goblins, they were unable to provide any information, citing client privilege. That was somewhat expected, though it had been worth a try.

Members of the SOU, meanwhile, began conducting surveillance at the Dursley residence in Little Whinging, a small suburb in Surrey. It was quickly learned a squib by the name of Arabella Figg lived not far from the Dursleys, and it was suspected she was placed there to keep an eye on the boy. The team had also discovered a number of wards placed on the property, all of which designed to keep dark wizards or creatures away from the Dursley residence. They stopped short at the street, and realistically, it wasn't enough to prevent someone from doing harm, if they were creative.

Preventing the SOU from entering the residence, though? The wards would not cause them any trouble. Again, a flaw in the plan, the team all agreed. Had this been a Commonwealth job, the wards would have been cast by the goblins, and extended over the neighbourhood. They would be triggered by any witch or wizard crossing them, and if the intent were to cause harm, they wouldn't gain entry at all. As thing were set up at present, a lot was being left up to chance.

A second team of SOU members were sent to the English Ministry of Magic, to search Department of Records for details on who was supposed to be looking after the boy. A magical child being placed with non-magical people? It just wasn't normally done in the magical world. The Commonwealth was somewhat the exception here, but really. What were they playing at? It was a recipe for disaster.

A search of the Department of Records turned up very little, other than what was already known. Harry's parents had been murdered by Tom Riddle on October 31, 1991. The baby had been placed with his only living relatives, which luckily hadn't been listed in the public record. Though Riddle had disappeared, his followers were still most certainly around. It is again said, even with the wards in place, if someone were creative, they could have still finished what Riddle had started.

There were also references to a few other names. Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black, the three of them being very close friends with James Potter. The file on the Blacks was a rather extensive one, but the Commonwealth had their own file about that particularly dark family. It was no surprise to learn Sirius had been responsible for what had happened to the Potters. He was now locked away in Azkaban. Remus was in the wind somewhere, and the government began conducting another rather quiet enquiry as to his whereabouts, if only for him to answer a few questions. Peter Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin posthumously, for attempting to stop Sirius Black from murdering a number of non-magical people somewhere in London. He'd died, and very little had been recovered of his body.

The surveillance continued into the summer, with the team learning some disturbing truths about the Dursleys. When all was said and done, it wouldn't just be the monsters living at Number Four, Privet Drive who would have a lot to answer for. After all, someone was responsible for placing young Harry in their 'tender' care.

* * *

While that was going on, the Order of the Magnus was in contact with a far away place, thanks to the power of the Orb of Magnus. The discovery had been by accident, nearly forty years prior, when Elaine was still only a senior member of the Order.

The Orb had created a portal to a distant planet they learned was named Nirn. More specifically, the portal had opened near a place called Saarthal, and what looked like some sort of archeological dig. That led to cautious introductions, and a meeting with the leader of a College: the College of Winterhold. Guardian Elaine and Savos Aren became good friends over the next few years, as the two worlds began to share information with each other.

The government knew the astounding ramifications in such a discovery, but equally, they also knew the danger in revealing it. The world they had made contact with was magical in nature, and revealing such information would still violate the Statute of Secrecy. Sure, they did not inherently follow the policy within their own borders—the reason they weren't a member of the ICW as it was, but the Commonwealth most certainly adhered to it when dealing with outside nations. Revealing a magical alien world most certainly qualified as such a violation.

So it was, that on an afternoon at the beginning of June, Guardian Elaine was once again having lunch with Savos Aren, as they discussed the possible grim future, and the boy capable of preventing it.

“He is magical?”

“Very much so,” Elaine answered, “Though he doesn't know it yet. A witch or wizard doesn't really start to come into their magic until they're ten or eleven.”

“So you have said already. And your plan is to remove him from those who might interfere or hinder his development?”

“Exactly.”

“Magic is magic. Though the way magic works in Skyrim is somewhat different—we don't use wands such as you do—he could still be schooled in it. I doubt you could send him any further away than to Skyrim.”

“I agree. He would be there until he turns eleven at least. However, the government wishes to also ensure he's receiving a non-magical education. The ministry is already setting up a number of teachers and tutors to see to that end of things. All we would require is permission for them to travel to your College.”

“I don't see a problem in that. Though I would expect that access be limited. I would rather not the problems of this world coming into ours. There is more than enough going on within Tamriel as it stands. What with so much anger over the White-gold Concordat. The Nords are up in arms about it.”

“The people would have a right to be angry, Savos. Having something forced on them and all that rot. But I do agree with you, we will limit those who visit Harry.”

“Good. Though you should also be aware, the boy will likely be the youngest person in the college. The closest to his age will be a young Breton boy, but he will turn eleven in Hearthfire—September. I can have a word with him, see if he wouldn't mind having a roommate.”

“That would be wonderful. I think Harry will appreciate that.”

“How soon will we expect him?”

“We're aiming for the beginning of September. The plan is to remove him from his relatives at the end of July. That will give us a month to take care of a few issues, and prepare him for the journey.”

“And when he turns eleven?”

“Well, at that point, it will really depend on what Harry wants,” Elaine answered, “We're divided on whether to let him remain with the College, begin his magical education here in the Commonwealth, or at Hogwarts, the school his parents attended.

“In the end, we're all in agreement that it should be Harry's choice. He's had decisions made for him since his parents were murdered five years ago.”

Savos leaned back in his seat, and sipped on a glass of wine. He set it down, and said, “It shall be rather interesting, seeing a boy be raised in both schools of magic.”

“More than a few people agree with that sentiment, Savos. And a certain number of people will be in for a rather rude awakening.”

That drew a smirk from the ancient Arch-mage. “This 'Dumbledore' character you've mentioned being one of them?”

“Meddling old fool, by account of our Department of Information. And yes, most definitely, he will be in for a very rude awakening, should Harry decide to attend Hogwarts.”

“Indeed. I should also note that, Harry will always be welcome at the college, even if he should decide to attend his magical schooling in this world.”

“That would be appreciated. He can keep his options open.”

“Like he's receiving his lessons from here even while he's at the college, it's quite likely we can also come up with some sort of plan so he continues to study his lessons from the college while he's here.”

“We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. As it stands, being a magical student, he'll have a large course load. Magical students within the Commonwealth receive schooling in both magical and non-magical subjects.”

“The reason for tutors and teachers from this world.”

“Exactly,” Elaine answered, “Though at the beginning, his tutors will likely only be covering the very basics—Math, language skills, reading, spelling. We'll introduce other subjects as he gets older; history, science, and so on.”

“That would make sense. The final issue, then, is to find a way of moving the portal. Having it open up at the college would be far easier than landing at Saarthal. It would also be more secure. Bandits have been known to frequent the ruins at Saarthal. Last thing we would want is for an unfortunate accident.”

“Yes, agreed. And on that, the Arcane Science Division has been working on a solution. Care to take a look?”

“By all means.”

* * *

_July 24, 1996 / 24 Sun's Height, 4E191  
College of Winterhold, Skyrim_

With the combined efforts of the Commonwealth's Arcane Sciences Division, and mages from the College of Winterhold, a method was at last devised to move the portal. With a tremendous crack, and a blast of wind that sent the snow scattering, the portal vanished, only to reappear in the courtyard of the college.

With that final adjustment, the Commonwealth was at last ready to set the plan in motion. The hope of the Wizarding world would have the tools needed to do the job he'd been saddled with. One way or another.


	2. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commonwealth of Valicadia removes Harry Potter from his abusive relatives, and sets him up to attend the College of Winterhold in Skyrim.

# 2: THE RESCUE

**July 1996 – July 1997**

* * *

_Early morning, July 31, 1996  
Little Whinging, Surrey_

Number Four, Privet Drive was identical to all the other houses in the neighbourhood, with its neatly cut grass, trimmed hedges, and well-kept flowerbeds: the home of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, along with their six-year-old son, Dudley. If one were to peer inside of this home, one would see the typical photographs lining the mantle of the fireplace, indicating a happy family of three lived there. Yes, a family of three, not four.

However, there _was_ a fourth person living at number Four, Privet Drive: a young boy named Harry Potter... the _boy-who-lived_. You see, he was left there almost five years prior, after a tragic series of events resulted in the death of his parents, leaving Petunia as his only living relative.

Life at the Dursleys was not easy for young Harry, being the unwanted burden from a sister Petunia had wished to forget about. What, with her unnatural... abilities, it was the last thing she wanted around her precious Dudders. The thought of it, her sister's spawn, contaminating her child!? _HELL_ would freeze over before Petunia Dursley would allow that to happen. And so, rather than giving the child one of the spare rooms, she put him in the cupboard beneath the stairs, amongst the cleaning agents, junk, and spiders—much like one would treat something more apt to be discarded than kept—something she wanted to keep out of sight.

When Harry was old enough to reach the cooker, he was expected to cook meals for the family, at first starting with breakfast, then working up to the others. Chores were expected of him—hoovering, laundry—that was new starting that past winter, weeding the flowerbeds—that started the previous summer, and the boy was pretty sure that, come the next, he would be expected to cut the lawn as well. Harry didn't know it, but he was effectively doing the work of a live-in housekeeper at this point, having just turned the tender age of six.

Yes, that's right. Today was Harry's birthday. Not that anyone else noticed. He'd lived in this most unhappy environment for nearly five years, having been left on the doorstep in the early hours of 1 November, 1991, to be discovered by Petunia later that morning as she set out the milk bottles. It had only been two years prior that he'd actually learned his true name; most of the time the Dursleys had other names for him: 'boy', or worse, 'freak'. It had only been the year prior that he'd learned when his birthday was, finally daring to ask his aunt not long after his cousin's. It had earned him three days locked in his cupboard, but she still answered him.

So it was, all the occupants of Number Four, Privet Drive were still in the bliss of slumber on that last day of July. For Harry, it was the third day locked in his cupboard—this time accused of causing all the tires on Vernon's car to deflate. As was always the case, he had no chance to defend himself. It was just a strong-arm into the cupboard, the door locked, and then left to his own devices.

Harry only stirred slightly, hearing his horse-faced aunt lumbering down the stairs, but he knew shortly she'd be banging on the cupboard door, screeching for him to get up. Perhaps today she'd let him out of the cupboard longer than to visit the loo and do his business. Maybe today, he would get something to eat. His belly was beginning to ache from lack of food.

The loud rapping on the front door yanked Harry out of his half-sleep. Footsteps down the hall told Harry his aunt was going to open the door, and voices confirmed exactly that... voices which grew louder and heated, and he distinctly heard the strangers speak his name several times. Petunia suddenly shrieked, and loud footsteps rushing past his cupboard told him she'd panicked and fled, likely into the kitchen—confirmed, as he heard the swinging door to the kitchen bang.

More footsteps followed, and some part of Harry actually began to panic. Obviously they were there for him, but... that wasn't necessarily a good thing. He curled up on the small mattress, trying to make himself invisible... something didn't feel right. What if it was the _orphanage people_ Vernon kept talking about?

Too late, the latch on the door was being undone, and the door swung wide open, revealing a figure crouching down so he could see into the space. And then...

“Harry Potter?”

* * *

Because the Commonwealth of Valicadia was not a member of the International Confederation of Wizards, they knew they had to tread very carefully in how they handled the situation. It was considered kidnapping. Cut and dry, without the sugar-coating. It was more than likely, no matter how it was spun, the Commonwealth would take a lot of heat from the international community.

However, with the amount of background information the Department of Information was able to obtain, it was clear the powers that be had no interest in ensuring the proper care was taken with the famous boy. As far as the Commonwealth was concerned, the gross negligence on the part of the English Ministry of Magic was far greater than the action the Commonwealth was about to take. The lesser of two evils. The greater good. A matter of protecting the future. Perhaps most important of all, to save a little boy from a waking nightmare. In the end, that was what mattered.

So it was, on that early morning on the final day of July, 1996, the silence was momentarily disturbed as a blur of figures suddenly appeared in an alleyway not far from the Dursley household. The trip had taken under two minutes, with them travelling by floo powder from the Ministry of Social Services in Trevelyan, to a public fireplace in Erwin. Erwin was the oldest city in the Commonwealth, located about six kilometres underground, beneath the cliffs of Dover on England's south coast. A port key completed the journey.

There had been debate on who all to send as a 'rescue party'. In the end it was decided that a trio of Aurors and a caseworker from the Ministry of Social Services would be more than sufficient. Alice Wheeler was one of the senior caseworkers in the office, having handled a large caseload over seventeen years at her job. She had a nearly spotless track record when dealing with the particular type of abuse Harry was suffering from.

They arrived at number Four, Privet Drive just after 7 am, and Alice knocked on the door, her Ministry credentials ready. It opened a few moments later, a woman narrowing her eyes at the people she found on her doorstep. She was tall, with dark hair and a horse-like face, dressed in a housecoat and slippers.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Petunia Evans Dursley?”

“Yes. What is this about?”

“My name is Alice Wheeler, and I'm here from the Ministry of Social Services.” She held up her Ministry credentials. “I'm here regarding your nephew, Harry Potter.”

“Oh. What's he done this time?”

Petunia's sneer was firmly in place, and she mentally tacked on a few more days to the boy's punishment. Bringing people to the door? What would the neighbours think?

“We would like to talk to him. It seems there have been a few irregularities with regard to his file, and we're here to correct them, ensure he's in good hands, and so on.”

“Oh... I see... well, this... really isn't a good time,” Petunia stammered.

If they were to discover where he was being made to sleep—she knew deep down it was wrong, and could land both her and her husband in jail.

“This shouldn't take long,” Alice persisted.

“Mrs. Dursley, we insist,” spoke one of the Aurors, retrieving a piece of parchment from his robes. It was then Petunia remembered there were other individuals with the caseworker... and it dawned on her.

“You're some of _those_ people!” she hissed, moving to slam the door.

The second Auror simply reached up and held the door with his hand.

“How dare you!”

“Madam, please show us to Harry. We don't want to intrude longer than necessary,” said the third Auror.

“Leave my doorstep, you, you, you... _freaks_!”

“No.” The Aurors now produced their wands, and although they did not point them at Petunia, she let out a shriek, and tore down the hallway, leaving the door agape. The Aurors stepped through first, one of them directing his wand in front of him.

“ _Homenum revelio_ ,” he commanded, and instantly, several pinkish glows appeared. Two of them on that floor, including a small shape under the stairs.

“You two. See to Mrs. Dursley,” the first Auror directed. The pair went off into the kitchen, while the remaining Auror approached the locked cupboard.

“These people are monsters,” he muttered, as he began to undo the lock.

He pulled the door open, and stood back, letting the dim light flood into the closet. Alice's heart nearly broke, as she took in the sight before her. Glancing to the Auror at her left, she knew he was feeling the same thing.

A boy lay curled up on a mattress meant for a crib, eyes blinking at the sudden light flooding into what was clearly his prison. The closet was dirty, smelling of dirty clothes, although not the fault of its occupant. This wasn't a home—it was captivity. Collecting himself, the Auror dared ask, “Harry Potter?”

“Y-yes,” the small boy answered.

“You have a light or something in there?”

“No, Aunt Petunia took it out,” Harry answered, timidly, “Are... are you gonna hurt me?”

“No. No, 'course not.”

At hearing that question, Alice came forward, also kneeling down so Harry could see her.

“Harry, I'm Alice Wheeler. I'm a caseworker from the Ministry of Social Services. We received an anonymous complaint about your treatment, and we're following up. May I ask you a few questions?”

“I... did I do something wrong? Are you people from the orphanage?” Harry asked, timidly.

“No. Though we sometimes do have to place little boys like you in places such as that, we try not to. My job is to make sure those who take care of you are doing a good job.”

“But...”

“Harry, they're making you sleep in a cupboard. That's not right. Where does your cousin sleep?” the Auror asked.

“He's got two rooms.”

“Two rooms?”

Alice kept the look of surprise and anger off her face.

“How about you come out of there, so we can chat in a more comfortable setting? My knees are starting to ache, crouching down like this.”

“Uh, sure.”

Harry was feeling a little more relaxed at the strangers talking to him. Maybe they were really there to help. But no, he remembered, last time people came to help, nothing was really done in the end. He earned four days locked up in his cupboard with only stale bread and water. Still, with the small thread of hope in the back of his mind, he obliged, fumbling for his glasses in the dim light.

Just as he climbed out of the cupboard to stand in the narrow hallway, there was a pounding of footsteps on the stairs.

“Stop right there!” A voice thundered.

The three of them spun to find an enraged Vernon Dursley at the foot of the stairs, brandishing a double-barrel shotgun. He'd obviously taken the time to get dressed, and had been likely listening to the exchange up to this point.

“I demand you all leave this instant!”

“Mr. Dursley. Put the weapon down,” the Auror spoke, calmly.

“This is my house! Now--”

Harry didn't exactly understand what happened, but there came a noisy BANG, and the weapon was blasted out of his uncle's hands. He whirled to see a second man standing at the door leading into the kitchen, brandishing a short stick. Vernon was struck between being terrified, and being enraged. Fear won out, and he backed into the corner.

“Mr. Dursley, I suggest you stay out of the way,” said the first man, who then turned back to Harry. “How about we find somewhere to sit, and get miss Wheeler off her feet?”

“Uh... into the lounge,” said Harry, timidly, still concerned this would turn out like the other times the authorities attempted to investigate his home life. They'd attacked uncle Vernon this time! Locked in a cupboard until he was old enough to graduate, at this rate! His mind still racing with the terrible ramifications of this 'visit', he led the visitors into the lounge.

“I... I object to this... this—”

Vernon had followed them, his face purple with rage. His fear had only lasted a few seconds, really.

“Ah, Mr. Dursley...” The third Auror had swept in from the garden, wearing a predatory look on his face. “Won't you come join us? We've been wanting to ask you a few questions with regard to your nephew.”

“But... but...”

“But, what?” The Auror sneered, “Didn't think _WE_ wouldn't notice neglect toward a magical charge? Sir, you're seriously deluded if that's what you believe. Now come join us in the garden, so we might discuss this away from the ears of your soon to be former charge.”

While Vernon followed the Auror, Harry hesitantly took a seat on one of the sofas. Alice took up Vernon's favourite lounge chair, while the first Auror stood off to the side. He didn't seem as gruff as the others.

When was the last thing you had anything to eat?” Alice asked, sitting across from Harry.

“I don't remember. Three days, maybe?”

“He'll need to see medical soon as we get back to Trevelyan,” the Auror seemed to think aloud.

“Agreed, Matt. The Ministry will look after that sort of thing. We'll have the healers do a full check-up. When was the last time you've seen a doctor, Harry?”

“A few months ago when I, uh... fell down the stairs,” Harry answered, his eyes darting to the floor.

Alice had seen that sort of behaviour before. A quick peak into Harry's mind gave her exactly the answer she'd expected: one of the Dursleys, in this case his much heavier cousin.

“The place we're going, you won't have to worry about 'falling down the stairs', or any other sort of accident on the count of someone responsible for your care. Harry, you're special. What your aunt and uncle have done to you is against the law... do you understand?”

“I thought that was just what happened to boys when they were bad,” Harry answered, timidly.

“What happens when your cousin is bad?” the Auror named Matt asked.

“Well, not a lot, really.”

“Completely contradictory behaviour. We've seen this sort of thing before between siblings when one is magical while the other is not,” Alice commented, “At least two thirds of the cases, the magical child is moved in with a magical family.” She looked Harry in the eye. “Are you ready to leave the Dursleys behind you for good?”

“Yes miss,” Harry answered, honestly.

“Do you have anything you would like to bring with you?”

“I... have a few things in my cupboard... but it's really dark.”

“I can fix that. Matt, go let the others know we're about done here. Harry, let's collect what you need from your cupboard, and we can be off.”

“Yes ma'am.” Matt made a path toward the garden, where the other pair of Aurors were still having a discussion with Petunia and Vernon.

As expected, the cupboard was a disaster, discreetly lit by the caseworker's wand. There were cobwebs, spiders, dust, clutter... most appalling conditions for a six-year-old boy to endure. There was a light socket, but the bulb had been removed. There was a pile of dirty clothes stuffed at the bottom of the mattress, and yet another pile at the head. Harry went to grab those, but Alice put a hand on his shoulder.

“We'll get you new clothes once we get to Trevelyan. Those things should be discarded.”

“Oh. Well... then I just have this stuff.”

Harry pulled a box of items out of a hidden spot against the wall, covered by a wad of old rags. Alice had seen this type of thing before as well. These were the boy's treasures. Things most would consider rubbish, junk, stuff to be discarded. Harry backed out of the cupboard, the box held tightly in his hands, and Alice closed the door. To Harry, it was finality. This was truly happening.

“Miss Wheeler? All set?” the third Auror had come from the kitchen, looking grim.

“I believe so.”

“The three of us will be remaining behind to take the Dursleys to processing at DMLE in Erwin. You're taking him to Trevelyan?”

“The minister himself may want to have a word. The government wants to make sure this is done right,” Alice answered.

“Safe journey.”

Alice turned back to Harry, and produced what looked like a beat-up pie plate from her hand bag.

“All right, Harry. We're going to be using what's called a Port key to start our journey.”

“A port key?”

“It's a very special form of transportation, for a very special boy,” Alice answered, with a bright smile.

It had been decided that they would for now limit the amount of magic they actually used in front of Harry. The excitement of the morning was enough as it was. She held the plate out firmly.

“Got a good grip on your box? Good. Now grab hold of the pie plate.”

Harry looked at it, and did so, a little shyly.

“Ready?” At Harry's nod, Alice spoke, “Goodbye Dursleys.”

Harry felt the most peculiar sensation, akin to a hook being jerked behind his naval. The narrow hallway of the Dursleys fell away, and he was flying off in a rush of colour and sound. He redoubled his grip, one hand on his precious treasures, the other on the pie plate, afraid that if he let go, he might be permanently lost somewhere. It was the craziest form of transportation he'd ever heard of, but... if it was getting him away from the Dursleys, then so be it. He'd had to endure worse.

Then, suddenly, it was over. Harry landed on solid ground, a hand steadying him. His insides were unsettled, but he stood up straight, looking about. They had arrived on a raised platform in a circular room, with several individuals standing around, some dressed in suits, the others in—dresses? Including the men? Harry was confused.

“Clear the platform, please,” spoke one of the individuals at the edge of the platform.

Harry found himself led to the edge of the platform, where Alice deposited the pie plate into a bin labelled with a long word Harry had not seen before. 'De-con-tamin-ation,' he sounded out in his mind.

“Why did you put the pie plate in there?” Harry asked.

“Because it was used, right? So it's dirty and they have to clean it,” Alice answered.

It was close to the truth, but for a small boy, it was more than enough.

She then asked, “How did you like your first ride by port key?”

“It was weird, but it was wicked!”

“Good, good, because we have to do it a second time,” Alice explained, as they led Harry from the room.

“I'm really away from the Dursleys... for good?”

“I promise, Harry. The three gentlemen who came with us are taking your aunt and uncle into custody. What they did to you is against the law, as I explained before.”

“So they will be punished? I... I didn't want to get anyone in trouble—”

“Harry.” Alice put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “It's not your fault. It's theirs.”

“I just...”

“It's all in the past now,” Alice reassured, as they entered another room. This one was virtually identical to the one they'd just left, with another raised platform. This one, however, had a queue of people waiting. They joined it.

“Miss... where are we?”

“This is the city of Erwin. We're about six kilometres under the cliffs of Dover. You know where that is, don't you?”

“Sorry.”

“It's on the south coast of England. The place we're going next is in Canada's Northwest Territories. Or, like this place, several kilometres below the surface.”

“We're really underground?”

“Very much so.” Alice could see the boy was having his doubts about the truthfulness of that statement. “We're a rather isolated people,” she continued, “We have been for a long time.”

“Oh.”

Harry was still trying to work out how it was possible. A small part of him still doubted everything that had happened up to this point, but... just maybe...

The queue moved rather quickly, and as they got closer, Harry had to giggle, seeing the blur of appendages as the port keys took people off to where they needed to go. It was...

“It's like magic!” Harry suddenly blurted.

“I should have expected you to catch on,” said Alice, as the group of people ahead of them took their place on the platform. “Just hold your questions until we get to Trevelyan.”

“Then it's real? Magic?”

“Just hold your questions,” Alice repeated, “We'll have a lengthy conversation about things over a nice breakfast.”

At mention of the word, Harry's stomach let out a growl of protest, and the boy smiled broadly. The group ahead of them were gone, and it was their turn.

The ride was every bit as wild as the last, this time using an empty pop bottle, but Harry was ready for the sensation, and did a little better as they arrived at their next destination, only stumbling a little. They landed in an identical circle as the one they'd just left, and this time, two people stepped onto the platform to greet them.

“No trouble collecting him?” The man was dressed in a suit and tie, and the woman dressed in a business suit.

“None whatsoever. The Aurors are looking after the Dursleys,” answered Alice, then indicating to Harry. “Will, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Will Jarvis, my immediate supervisor, and Jill Corson, another colleague.”

Harry was momentarily confused at the hand presented him, but remembered seeing Vernon shake hands with people, and so duplicated the motion, if perhaps a little stiffly.

“Now as I was saying to Harry before we left Erwin, we might like to get something to breakfast, and have a chat.”

“Breakfast? More like a late midnight snack here,” said Will, with a laugh. Harry looked confused.

“It was breakfast though...” his stomach again let out a groan.

“We're seven hours behind here,” Jill explained.

“You'll get a proper welcome in a bit, but welcome to Trevelyan. We're located in western Canada,” Will added.

“The colonies?” Harry remembered his uncle muttering a number of times about the colonies—Canada, Australia, and a few other places that still retained some sort of political ties to England.

“We were at one time,” Alice answered, “Many, many years ago. Just hold off your questions until we get to the office.”

After stopping at the cafeteria to pick up something to eat, they gathered in a medium-sized conference room with a window overlooking the city. For a place where they did magic, it seemed rather mundane, with simple furniture, and muted decoration. Harry immediately noticed it was dark outside. The question of why, however, was again overshadowed by his hunger.

Will had only bought a small amount of food, since it was known that the boy had had very little to eat, and eating too much at once would only make him sick. So it was, only a few simple items were offered.

While Harry ate, he again posed the question. “So magic is real?”

“Let me ask you this, Harry,” said Alice, who had sat across from him, “Have you ever had anything strange happen around you? Something you can't explain?”

“Well... there is my hair. Aunt Petunia gets so mad sometimes, she chops it all off with a pair of scissors. And then the next morning, it's all grown out again.” The boy seemed to think a moment, then said, “Then there was the horrible jumper she tried to make me wear once. It shrunk itself so small, it might have fit Aunt Marge's dog. You mean, stuff like that?”

“Exactly. Harry, you're a wizard.”

“I can do magic?”

“Absolutely. We think that's the reason why your relatives treated you so badly. We see this sort of thing sometimes, even here. We want you to know, Harry, that won't ever happen again, if we have anything to say about it.”

“What if, say in a months' time, we could send you some place where you could learn about magic? What do you think about that?” Will questioned.

“Really?”

“If that's what you want,” said Will, “We can certainly make it so. There are people who can make it happen.”

“The person in this case comes from a place far away from here. We've already mentioned you to him,” said Jill.

“Well... I think I would like that,” said Harry.

He now truly believed everything was changing, right before his eyes. This was the first time he'd actually been removed from the Dursleys. Getting that far, he had to believe there was no going back. These people truly wanted to help... and if he could really do magic, then... whatever they had to offer, he wasn't about to turn it down. Anything would be better than the five nightmare-like years he'd suffered at the Dursleys.

“In the mean time, we would like to ask you a few more questions about life with the Dursleys,” said Will, “I know things were difficult, but we do need to understand, so they can be dealt with appropriately.”

“I... I don't want them to get in trouble...”

“What if it was your cousin?”

“Well...” Harry thought a few moments. What if it was another boy or girl going through the same thing? No, he realized, Will was right.

* * *

_August 12, 1996_

The past two weeks had been filled with excitement, some good, and some bad, as Harry adjusted to life without the oppression he'd suffered at the Dursleys. For the time being, he had been placed with an older couple in Trevelyan. Over the past twenty-seven years, Ellen and Joe Saunders had taken in dozens of children for the ministry on a short-term basis.

Most days up to this point were spent with the social workers, as well as a few teachers from the ministry of education, as they worked out where he was mentally. It was well known that the preschool years of a child's life were critical to social and mental development. Based on the investigation the government had conducted on Harry's home life, there would have to be some corrections.

Today, however, was a rather important date, since it would be the first time Harry would meet Savos Aren, the Arch-mage of the College of Winterhold. The social workers had most certainly explained who he was, but Harry was more than curious, given how they'd described him. An elf? What was an elf, anyway? Not having been allowed to read anything that involved fantasy in any way, shape or form, somewhat limited what he knew about such things.

A little after ten in the morning, Harry again found himself in a conference room at the ministry of social services. The usual group of people were present, and after introductions and small talk, Will took out his mobile phone, and connected a call.

“Guardian Elaine? ...Yes, he's here... five minutes? Super, see you shortly.” He disconnected the call.

Five minutes later, there was a barely audible 'pop' from outside the room, and seconds later, the doors opened, to reveal a pair of individuals, one of which Harry had met before: Guardian Elaine. She was perhaps one of the most important people within the Commonwealth, being a member of a group of people responsible for the study and protection of a powerful magical artefact. To this point, he'd not seen the artefact, but from the description, it sounded fantastic.

The other person was significantly taller than she was, wearing a strange set of robes with a hood that covered his head, only exposing his face. He looked almost ancient, with dark crimson eyes, and a beard which had been tied in a knot. More striking, his skin looked to be a greyish-blue shade. He was most definitely not human. So that's what they meant by 'elf', Harry realized.

“Harry, I would like you to meet Savos Aren. Savos, this is Harry Potter.”

“Mr. Potter. Glad to meet you finally,” said Savos, as they shook hands. Harry had gotten slightly better at meeting people, and so the handshake wasn't so stiff.

“I... I've heard loads about where you're from. It sounds fantastic,” he said, enthusiastically.

“For a young boy, it would be. Do be aware, that should you come to study at my college, it would not be all fun and games. Skyrim can be a hostile place.”

“I know, Will and Alice keep reminding me about that. And Elaine's showed me loads of memories. But I want to learn.”

“You also understand there aren't any others around your age. I have but one student who comes anywhere near your age, and he turns eleven next month.”

“I still want to do this.”

“Even though you have just been removed from a terrible place? I need you think very carefully before you truly commit.”

“It's not that he's discouraging you, Harry,” said Alice, seeing the sad look crossing Harry's face, “He wants you to be absolutely sure before you commit to it.”

“And Savos, really, we will want to maintain contact periodically, to ensure he's doing well,” said Elaine, “There are a number of things he needs to learn from our world.”

“But Mr. Potter's safety is paramount,” said Will, “The government wants to put as much mileage between him and his former world as possible.”

“But why?” Harry asked, “Did... did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all. All you need to worry about is doing well when you start school in September—or Hearthfire, as it's called in Skyrim,” Alice answered.

“He should know more than that,” said Elaine, darkly, “Harry, there are a number of people from the magical world back in England who would do you harm. We're doing what England's magical government has failed to do. All I ask is that you trust us. Can you do that?”

“Yes madam Guardian.”

“Good. Now how about we work out a few more details on what you'll be studying for the first year? I know some of it will be a bit dry, but most of it is about having fun. Does that sound like a deal?”

At Harry's nod, the expanded group got down to business.

* * *

_September 1, 1996 / 1 Hearthfire, 4E191  
College of Winterhold, Skyrim Province, Tamriel_

It had been a busy couple of weeks since that first meeting. There had been numerous meetings after, a trio of shopping trips during which he was outfitted with clothes that actually fit, a proper medical exam conducted by an experienced healer, and an eye exam. The eye exam resulted in a visit to a strange facility within the hospital, and an hour-long procedure that permanently corrected his vision. Some sort of laser eye surgery, something Harry didn't understand. All he knew, was that he could see without glasses, and that was one of the best belated birthday presents he'd ever received. Well, one of the few he'd ever received, but in the end, one he appreciated greatly.

Now, though, it was time for him to move to the College of Winterhold. He'd already said good bye to the wonderful couple who had seen to his care since he had been taken from the Dursleys. It was understood he would likely not see them again. All of his new possessions had been collected and packed away in a miniature box, secured for the trip to Skyrim.

By this time, travelling by Port key was old hat for Harry. He, along with Guardian Elaine, Will, and Alice, were transported to a snowy courtyard of what looked like a stone castle. The sky was somewhat overcast, with the occasional snow flake wafting to the ground. Harry had already been given a thorough virtual tour of the land through a number of pensieve memories, and so knew somewhat what to expect.

“Guardian Elaine. Harry and friends. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mirabelle,” Elaine answered, “The Arch-mage is expecting us.”

“He should be down momentarily. He's been tied up all morning answering some sort of urgent missive from the Thalmor Embassy. In the meantime, if you would follow me, I will show you to the Hall of Attainment. It's the living quarters here at the college.”

Mirabelle Irvine was the master witch at the college, and effectively the second in command. She was actually in charge of the day-to-day running of the college. None of the group were surprised to find her meeting them in the Arch-mage's stead. They fell into step behind her as she led them across the courtyard to a large set of doors.

Inside, they found a circular room with a number of doors leading off of it, and a stairwell leading to the upper floors.

“This will be your room while you're here, Harry. You'll be sharing it with a boy a few years older than you—you'll meet him a little bit later, he's in his Alteration lesson right now, I think.”

“If I might make a few adjustments. Harry might like to have a bathroom and so on--”

“No,” Harry interrupted her, “I think I should get used to things here... but thank you anyway.”

“If you're sure. There are a number of differences between our world and here,” Elaine warned.

“I saw the memories, madam Guardian.”

Harry looked to be thrilled to be there. Oh sure, he had a bed all to himself back in the Commonwealth, but this just felt... better, for some reason. There was a desk and a chair, with a stack of books waiting to be read. There was a large chest at the foot of the bed, and a set of robes was set on top of it, waiting to be worn.

There was a second bed in the room, and another desk, this one piled with books and parchment. That side seemed to be a little cluttered, perhaps 'lived in' might be the better phrase for it. The other occupant wasn't a neat freak by any stretch of the imagination, and if Harry thought about it, his aunt would have had loads to say about it. 'course, come to think of it, his aunt wouldn't let someone that freakish through the front door in the first place! He tried but failed to hide a smirk.

“Something funny, Harry?” Will asked.

“Aunt Petunia would never allow someone to keep a room that messy,” he answered, his eyes flicking to the other side of the room.

“But we aren't at your aunt's anymore, are we?” Alice pointed out.

“While we expect you to keep things relatively tidy, we don't expect it to be perfect,” said Mirabelle, “It is a little cluttered, but acceptable.”

“Oh, okay then.”

A door opening and closing drew the group's attention to the front doors. Savos Aren had just stepped in.

“Wonderful, I see you've all arrived. Thank you, Mirabelle, I'll see to them from here.”

“I'll return to my office. Harry, we'll talk again later.” With that, Mirabelle excused herself.

“I see Mirabelle has already shown you to your quarters. Very simple rules here. Keep the noise to a minimum, since your fellow students may be engaged in study or delicate work. As you learn your craft, I will expect you to be careful as you practice. Do not engage in activities that may cause harm to those around you. And most important, I do expect you try your best. Are there any questions?”

At Harry's shake of the head, Savos said, “Then let's take a tour of the college, and introduce you to a few more faces you'll be seeing a lot of over the next few years.”

That ate up the rest of the afternoon, with the group finishing up in the Arch-mage's quarters. Harry found the place fascinating, featuring an enormous circular garden growing in the middle. A good number of the plants were both bizarre, and intriguing.

“Alchemy is one of the few areas of study for which we don't have a teacher. If you show interest, I can set aside a bit of time to teach you.”

“That would be brilliant,” Harry agreed.

“Which brings us to the next order of business,” said Will, “Even though you will be staying here, there will be a number of instructors who will be coming through to teach you mundane subjects, such as mathematics, language, spelling, and such. We will also work on improving your reading skills.”

“And like your studies in the college's academics, I will expect you to try your best in those subjects being taught by your world, Harry. The mundane subjects are just as important as the magical ones,” said Savos, seriously.

“I promise to do my best.”

“Good. That's what we like to hear,” said Elaine, “And I'm lining up tutors and instructors that will try and make things engaging and fun for you. If it works out as I hope it will, you won't know you're learning.”

* * *

Early the following morning, Harry was awakened by someone rifling through a desk nearby. He'd slept rather restlessly, not being used to new surroundings and all that.

“Who--”

“Oh. Sorry.” Harry focused on the speaker. He'd not had a chance to meet his roommate the previous day, since the meeting had lasted late into the evening. Harry had found his roommate already asleep when he turned in for the night. So...

“I knew you were coming yesterday.”

The boy was definitely a few years older, with stringy, coppery red hair, and blazing green eyes that rivalled his own. Harry guessed he was easily a head taller, and he was already dressed in grey robes

“I'm Harry,” said Harry, offering a hand.

“Mazhe,” the other answered, as they shook. “So... the Arch-mage gave you a tour already. Saw you with your... well, with your parents—“

“No, just some people looking out for me,” Harry answered, “The Arch-mage thought I might do well here.”

“And so far?”

“It's brilliant,” Harry grinned.

“Savos Aren's a great wizard, but he doesn't teach that much anymore.”

“He's offering to teach me alchemy.”

“Take it! Gods, take the offer, you won't regret it.”

“I'm here to learn whatever I can and then some.”

“How old are you again?”

“I turned six in July.”

“Err... right. Pull some robes on and we can get some breakfast.”

Harry only grinned, and stood up, knowing already it was the beginning to a beautiful friendship.

* * *

By month's end, the pair were inseparable. It had been reasoned that, since the pair were both relatively new at the college, with Mazhe having arrived only a year before, it only made sense that they be paired up for classes. Harry's tutors quickly offered to teach the ginger-haired boy as well, meaning that they virtually spent every waking moment together.

From the Commonwealth's standpoint, it was better news than they could have hoped for. Harry was rapidly finding a mentor in Savos Aren, and more importantly, a good friend in Mazhe. A quiet investigation revealed that Mazhe came from a small settlement named Ivarstead, in the western part of the Rift hold. He had lost both parents in some sort of attack when he was nine, and had been sent to an orphanage in the city of Riften. He later escaped, and ran off to the college, where he had been a student for the past year.

The pair of them had shared a similar experience—Mazhe, perhaps less than Harry... but both knew what it was like to be bullied, abused, mistreated. The Commonwealth's investigation into the Honorhall Orphanage in Riften painted a bleak picture of conditions there. The woman in charge was a monster.

* * *

By the new year, Harry had adjusted to life in Skyrim. The weather was cold and harsh, making it very unpleasant crossing the courtyard to classes. For the first time ever, he experienced a wonderful Christmas, with numerous individuals arriving by Port key from the Commonwealth throughout the day. He'd amassed a mound of gifts, and cards had seemingly covered the wall above his desk.

Said desk contained a hefty stack of books, a third of them having been borrowed from the Arcaneum, as the boy's natural curiosity had been at last uncapped. He was growing into a quick study, being gently pushed in that direction by his eager roommate and close friend. Though most of what they studied was still beginner stuff, Harry also enjoyed learning about the world he found himself in, immensely fascinated by the different history. If anything, he was finding his own world rather bland by comparison.

Skyrim, and Tamriel, it seemed, had an equally colourful history, and perhaps more so. Here, magical and mundane people coexisted quite happily (perhaps with the occasional incident)... much like it was back in Valicadia. He still found it confusing how most of the magical world kept itself isolated and hidden from their non-magical counterparts... as if one side would attack the other. Of course, Guardian Elaine had explained the reason, but it still didn't make a lot of sense for Harry. Perhaps when he was older, it would make more sense.

When Harry asked Mazhe what he thought, it didn't make a lot of sense to him either. Being able to cast magic was just a part of who someone was, not the end all and the be all.

“It's no different than who we were born as,” he said, “I mean, you've got Colette, right? She's a Breton, same as I am. Then you've got Enthir, he's a Bosmer. Both can cast magic, both are scholars here at the college. Where's the difference?”

“Other than Enthir's mischief?”

Mazhe smirked. “Right.”

“There's none. They're both real good... but Collete's really good at restoration magic.”

“As it goes for everyone. Each have a speciality, something they do better in than the rest of their magical skill.”

“When will I know?”

“You just will. I think you're gonna make a smashing mage one day. Now we'd best hurry, we're gonna be late for our Illusion class.”

“If Drevis is one of his moods, he probably won't even notice we're missing,” Harry smirked. That got a chuckle out of Mazhe, since it was agreed on by everyone in the college, Drevis Neloren was a strange duck.

* * *

_June 28, 1996 / 28 Mid-year, 4E192_

Returning from the Arcaneum to meet the afternoon tutor just inside the entrance to the Hall of Attainment, Harry and Mazhe were surprised to find Will waiting for them along with a strange boy instead.

“Where's miss Heather?” asked Mazhe.

“She's not able to tutor the pair of you anymore,” answered Will, sadly, “Her mother is doing very poorly, and may pass on soon. She wishes to be at her bedside.”

“Please pass on my deepest regrets.”

“And mine too,” Harry added.

“In the meantime, you need a new math teacher. This is Justin.”

“Er... nice to meet you,” Harry grinned, offering a hand. Justin was of average height, with dark eyes, fair skin, and dark hair that fell to his eyes. He wore a baseball cap backwards, and a dark red-coloured jacket with cream sleeves. It had a large white 'D' sewn on the left chest.

“Gods, you're still just a boy,” said Mazhe, making his own judgement.

“Perhaps,” Justin answered, unfazed by the remark, “But that's neither here nor there. All you need to know, I've just finished my sixth year at Sir Malcolm Davis, and I'm hoping to get into University after I graduate next year.”

“He's going for a Bachelor of Science,” Will picked up, “Meaning that if you two make nice with him, he'll be able to teach you science in a few years.”

“Oh, well that's good then,” Harry grinned.

“Where do you usually set up for study?”

“There's a vacant room upstairs. This way,” said Mazhe, indicating they follow.

Mazhe was still unsure of the new kid. If anything, the boy was too young to be teaching, right? He still gave him the benefit of the doubt, as he led them up to the small room on the second floor they usually conducted lessons in.

Justin looked around, and noted the room had indeed been set up much like a classroom. It was clear the other tutors had left their own mark, with a blackboard being set up, along with a few other props and so on, all aimed at teaching younger children.

“Miss Heather and I did speak of where the pair of you are at, but I do need to see your notebooks.”

The pair of them both produced their workbooks from their rucksacks, while Justin pulled off his jacket and took a seat at the table. He first picked up Harry's notebook, and flipped through it, humming in a few places. He then put it down. He then picked up Mazhe's. It was somewhat surprising, until Justin remembered Mazhe had not had any sort of education up until this point. They were at about the same place.

“The pair of you are in roughly the same place, that's good. I think for the next few days we'll just work on some review. That sound all right?”

“Yeah, it's fair,” Harry agreed. Mazhe simply nodded, although he was on the same page as Harry.

“Great then.” Justin drew his wand, and produced a stack of cubes. Another gesture had them scatter in a close but flat pile.

“How many cubes might there be here—no, no counting. Give me an estimate.”

“Uh, nineteen,” Harry guessed.

Mazhe shook his head. “No, looks more like twenty-three.”

Will did remain until the end of the lesson, but for the most part kept quiet. This was more or less just to make sure the new teacher would be a fit. He was rather young, after all, but they had asked for not only a good student, but someone who was likable. Justin Fraser was well liked by his peers, one of the top students in both mathematics and science, and was already tutoring his classmates. It had been rather simple to hire his services.

Watching the three of them laugh together was all the indication Will needed. This was going to be a good fit. Harry and Mazhe were already joined at the hip by this point, and another young person added to the mix could never hurt anything. The thing was, in only a few years, Harry would have to make a decision. How would they all adapt, particularly should he decide to attend Hogwarts, such as his parents did?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some significant changes from the first write of this chapter. In axing the Avengers from the story, I've most definitely changed the focus here, letting Harry and Mazhe bond a little tighter. The Commonwealth also has a much closer tie to Harry, even though he's in Skyrim. The Commonwealth's artefact is allowing the connection to be kept open, allowing port keys to work between the two worlds.
> 
> Justin will have a larger role this time around, rather than the 'fifth wheel' he was early in the original work. Him being one of Harry and Mazhe's tutors works out better than 'just being along for the ride', such as it was. But be ready to see more of him, since Harry will certainly not be setting aside his non-magical courses once he starts Hogwarts.


	3. Years 6 - 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get an abbreviated look at Harry's early life at the College, leading up to his receiving his letter from Hogwarts, and Harry's first experience back in the Wizarding community of his birth.

 

# 3: YEARS 6 - 11

 

**Summer of 1996 - End of August 2001**

* * *

_June, 2001_

The last week in June always meant end of year exams. This year, it meant the end of grade five for Harry. His classes now included Language Arts, Math, Science, Social Studies, History, and Magical Culture, the curriculum being laid out by the Ministry of Education.

He did quite well in his studies, even as the magical courses began to be introduced as he got older. The college easily adapted to Harry's non-magical schedule, with the instructors (and some of the more advanced students in the college) teaching the lessons. In Tamriel, there were five specific schools of magic: alteration, conjuration, destruction, illusion, and restoration. Two other skills were very much magically related, but didn't involve a lot in terms of casting, yet they were still very much a magic skill: enchanting, and alchemy.

Up to this point, Harry had not seen anything to do with enchanting, but the Arch-mage had made good on his promise, and so provided instruction in alchemy. It was no surprise that Justin tended to sit in on those lessons, if only to gain insight into a different type of potion-making. As he learned, the skill was VERY different in Tamriel.

Harry now looked like a boy of nearly thirteen, even though he was just shy of turning eleven. His black hair had grown to nearly his shoulders, laying thick and wavy rather than the mess it had been years before. It also covered up the infamous scar on his forehead quite nicely. He'd filled out a lot, thanks to a much more substantial and regular diet, and was now about the same size Mazhe had been when he was eleven. His wardrobe had changed little, with him electing to stay with the clothes the Commonwealth had bought him (it was something they still did, making sure his clothes were in good shape and fit him properly).

Mazhe was now very much a young man, with the early fuzz of facial hair cropping up on his chin and lower jaw. He had shaved off most of his hair with a sharp blade, leaving but a simple thin row of it in the middle. It had over time flopped over to the left, giving him a rather intimidating appearance. The boy was still a mage, though, taking on more advanced studies in the five magical subjects taught at the College. Though Mazhe and Harry were still tutored together for all the subjects, it was only natural that Mazhe would pick up on the material quicker, given he was older.

Justin had certainly undergone a few changes himself. Now being twenty-three, he'd graduated from Sir Malcolm Davis Institute with good grades, both in the mundane courses, and those that were magical. Just the previous spring, he'd obtained his Bachelor of Science from the Central University in Erwin, and now he'd set his sights on obtaining a special Doctorate. He was at present working on a thesis paper which covered a theory on how to improve the Commonwealth's at times spotty wireless network.

That resulted in Justin spending a lot more time at the college, even if he wasn't teaching Harry and his best friend. Of course, if he really admitted it, he'd spent a lot of time at the college, period. There had certainly been more than a few days he'd missed at school, because he'd been dragged out on some adventure by his young friends. Skyrim was a fantastic place, and a sinkhole for adventure. One only had to look at Harry and Mazhe's room in the Hall of Attainment for proof.

The room was still neat and relatively tidy, but the walls were now lined with several wardrobes and trunks, all containing a collection of items discovered over the past five years. A collage of photos adorned the wall space behind the beds, all of them moving, depicting the three of them (or sometimes more) in various locations, after some adventure or another.

Some of their adventures had involved Dungeon-crawling, and that proved a lesson all in its own, with the undead shuffling around, growling, muttering in a strange language Harry had never heard before. Urag gro-Shub, the college's lore keeper had loaned him several books that helped him solve the puzzle: the dragon tongue... the language of the dragons, or _Dovah_.

That had been a true eye-opener, as Harry learned the dragon-lore of Skyrim, including an ancient prophecy which detailed the return of the _Dovah_ , and the greatest, most fearsome of them all: Alduin, the _world-eater_. Given Harry was well aware of one prophecy concerning him, he certainly did not poke fun or scoff at it in any way.

Harry, of course, knew of the prophecy already. When he was eight, Will and Alice, along with Guardian Elaine, had brought a pensieve with them one afternoon. It had been obtained thanks to the information passed on from the future. The four of them had watched as the haunting figure in glasses that magnified her eyes like that of a bug, speaking in harsh tones...

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”_

* * *

_July 23, 2001_

This day was expected. Returning from the Hall of the Elements and his Illusion lesson, Harry was not surprised to find a tawny owl waiting patiently for him on his trunk at the foot of the bed, a letter secured to its leg. It wasn't the first time he'd received post by owl, but it was a rarity within the Commonwealth, given there were much faster methods of communication.

“Your school letter,” Mazhe assumed, to which Harry only gave a short nod.

“You're really gonna go there?”

“It's where mum and dad went... and you know about the prophecy, Mazhe. I have to give it a go,” Harry answered, as he relieved the owl of its package, and offered it a few bits of dried skeever strips.

“Wait for my reply.” The owl puffed its feathers, and seemed to make itself at home, while Harry opened the package, momentarily glancing at the address, which had been written in an elegant script in shining green ink:

_Mr. H. J. Potter_   
_Hall of Attainment_   
_College of Winterhold_   
_Skyrim Province_

How was it they were able to exactly pinpoint his address? He let out a snort, wondering how they would have reacted, had he still been living at the Dursleys. _“The Cupboard Under the Stairs.”_ Like that would have went over well!

The letter inside was printed on thick parchment, in ink identical to that on the envelope.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_   
_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_   
_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

  _Dear Mr. Potter,  
_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_   
_Minerva McGonagall,_   
_Deputy Headmistress(1)_

Harry absently passed the letter over to Mazhe, and glanced over the list of things he would need for the school year. A standard uniform, protective gloves (Harry smirked, realizing he had something of his own already), a winter cloak (Harry again smirked, since he already had stuff suitable for a cold climate)... pointed hat? Were they serious?!

A pewter cauldron, scales, crystal or glass phials, telescope, and a wand... a wand? Oh, right, of course, he realized—considering he'd seen Justin's wand more than enough times. It would certainly be weird, using a focus to cast magic. Then the question was, how different was this world's magic to that of Skyrim? Maybe he could learn to do things here without a wand as well. That would be an advantage, wouldn't it?

' _Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_ ,' he read. A cat? Pass. Toads? Really? No, if he had a choice, it would be an owl. Why didn't owls exist in Skyrim, he mused, as he continued reviewing the equipment list.

“They really knew where you live?”

“I know,” said Harry, shaking his head, “Scary. Gonna have some questions for Will and Alice.”

“What's that?” Mazhe gestured to the second parchment.

“Things I'll need at the school,” Harry answered, as he took a seat at his desk, and pulled out a clean sheet of paper and an envelope. The reply was relatively short.

_Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_I thank you for the invitation to attend my parents' school. This is to inform you that I accept the invitation, and look forward to attending classes at the beginning of September._

  _Sincerely,_  
 _H. J. Potter_

 He then wrote out the address on the envelope, sealed it closed with a wax seal, and secured it to the owl's leg.

“Back to Hogwarts and the deputy headmistress, if you please.”

The owl opened its wings and lifted off, to fly out the door and disappear around the corner.

“Guess I need to also get a message back to Will and Alice, they wanted me to let them know as soon as this stuff arrived. I'll need to get this stuff, right?”

“I want to come with you,” said Mazhe, firmly.

“I'd like that, but I don't know if the Commonwealth will allow it.”

“We'll needle Justin 'till he caves, then,” Mazhe smirked.

* * *

The following morning, at an hour that would have been insane to most, Harry, Justin, and Mazhe took a port key back to Trevelyan, where they were met by Will and Alice. There had been debate about allowing Justin to handle things, given he was more than capable as a chaperone; however, there was a potential matter at Gringotts, and it was thought that some sort of official representation might be more suitable.

Just because Harry had been spirited away to the College of Winterhold, it did not mean the Commonwealth was any less invested in Harry's care. Officially, Alice Wheeler was the primary caseworker on the file. Will was the immediate supervisor, but given the nature of the file, he took a much closer interest in the matter. The pair of them were in regular contact with Harry, and most certainly were privy to his progress, both mentally and academically. The change in environment had done wonders, and with the close one-on-one instruction, he had done very well up to this point. Both Mazhe and Justin had been good for him.

Back to the present, the five of them at last stepped out of the fireplace and into the dingy little pub in London which worked as the gateway into Diagon Alley. Both Alice and Will had been into the Diagon Alley on more than a few occasions, but up until now, Justin had not been.

Unfortunately, it proved to be a disappointment to him. It felt like he'd stepped back in time. Oppressive, behind-the-times, draconian, all of these things came to the forefront as Justin entered Diagon Alley for the first time. The witches and wizards walking the cobblestone-lined alley were equally outdated, wearing robes and clothing which looked quite uncomfortable, at least in his opinion. He already knew a bit about England's Wizarding society, it being covered in history class, and seeing this... made him form an even lower opinion of them. They feared change. Or, more specifically, a few of them feared change, and used their status and powers of intimidation, to ensure things stayed exactly as they were.

The first stop was Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. The Commonwealth government was unable to get any sort of straight answer out of the goblins as to whether or not Harry had any sort of wealth held in trust, but they went on the assumption that he did. And so, the small group stepped up to the snowy-white building which seemed to tower over its neighbours.

They crossed the vestibule, arriving at a second set of doors, upon which was a large plate with the engraved words:

_Enter stranger but take heed_   
_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_   
_For those who take, but do not earn,_   
_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_   
_So if you seek beneath our floors,_   
_A treasure that was never yours,_   
_Thief, you have been warned, beware_   
_Of finding more than treasure there.(2)_

 “The branch in Trevelyan has the exact same sign on their door,” said Justin. “Get a few brainless wonders who try it. Touched in the head, I think. Or spun out on something—”

“Justin...” Alice scolded, casting him a dirty look.

“No one's ever pulled it off,” said Will, shaking his head, “Trying to rob a magical bank, no, you won't get far.”

They found themselves in an immense marble hall, with what seemed like a hundred creatures seated behind a long counter, conducting typical bank business. There seemed to be dozens of doors leading off of this hall, with more of the little creatures leading witches and wizards in and out of them.

“Miss Wheeler, what are those, um, creatures?” Mazhe finally asked quietly, trying to be polite.

“Goblins. Shrewd people, but they've handled the financial affairs of the Wizarding world longer than the Commonwealth's existed,” Alice answered, as they made their way up to an open wicket.

“Can I help you?” The goblin asked.

“Yes,” Harry answered, gathering up his courage, “My name is Harry Potter, and I need to find out about my vaults... rather, if I have any, and how much money I have in them.”

“I see. Do you have your key?”

“No, sir. I'm just returning to the Wizarding world now, see. My, err... guardians seem to think I have at least one vault—”

“Very well. If you will all follow me.”

The goblin hopped down from his stool, and a moment later, appeared through a small opening in the counter. He led them across the hall, to a set of doors. That led them into a lengthy hallway with more doors leading off of it, at last stopping at one labelled 'Evstor, Senior Account Manager'. The goblin knocked, and a moment later came a gruff “Enter!”

“Evstor will see to your questions, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, sir.” And the group stepped through the door.

The office was much larger than Mazhe expected it to be, but he'd seen that type of magic before. Enlargement charms. Justin had a mastery in that subject, and demonstrated his skill on more occasions than Mazhe could remember. A single, large desk was set up at the back of the room, behind which sat an ancient goblin, peering back at them with half-moon spectacles.

“I am Evstor. What can I help you with, Mr. Potter?”

“I don't know where to start—” Harry began, but Alice cut in, saying, “Mr. Potter needs to know about his accounts here at Gringotts. Trust vaults, family vaults, and so on.”

“I see. Come here then, Mr. Potter.”

Evstor swiped a finger toward a stack of parchment sitting on another desk off to the side, and said stack flew to his outstretched hand. Harry stepped up to the desk, with the others following close behind.

“These individuals you have with you today, you are comfortable with them knowing your business?”

“Yes sir,” Harry answered.

“Very well then. Write your full name on this parchment.”

Evstor pushed the blank page of parchment toward the boy. He picked up the offered quill, dabbed it in the ink pot, and scrawled out his name, although rather sloppily. It didn't seem to matter, though, as it momentarily turned green, then vanished. In its place, were several others: his parents.

“My mum and dad,” Harry whispered, staring at the names.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter.”

Evstor dragged a finger across another parchment, and pushed it toward the young wizard.

“Now that the bank has verified who you are, you will find here a statement of your current vaults. You should be aware, the family vault cannot be accessed until you turn seventeen. The Black vault is a bit of a conundrum, of which I will not further divulge. That issue will also come forth once you turn seventeen. As to your trust vault...”

Another gesture with a hand, and a single gold key appeared on the top of the pile of parchment. That was slid across the desk.

“Is that all we can do for you today?”

“Who else has access to my vault?” Harry threw out.

He wasn't sure, but he wanted to be sure he'd crossed all his T's and dotted all his I's. Another gesture of the hand by the goblin.

“Most peculiar.”

“If others are accessing his vault, put a stop to it at once,” said Will.

“By what authority?” Evstor questioned, giving Will a sharp eye.

“Mine,” answered Harry, “Miss Wheeler and Mr. Jarvis are looking out for my affairs. So if they say something's not right, it probably isn't.”

“Very well. Though your magical guardian may not agree with that.”

“Who is my magical guardian?”

“Albus Dumbledore.”

“That will be changed in the near future, Harry,” said Alice, “He shouldn't be anyone's magical guardian, with all the titles he has.”

“It is not our place to say,” said Evstor, “Now. Is there anything else you need assistance with, Mr. Potter?”

“No sir. Only, if I could visit my vault, please.”

“Actually, I do have a question,” said Will. “Though Harry may not directly access the contents of the estate, the estate still has a number of investments, am I correct?”

Evstor glanced at another set of notes in front of him. “That is a correct assumption.”

“Is there anything preventing the dividends from such investments from being passed on to Harry's trust vault?”

“Irregular, but...” Evstor smirked. “I think we can do that. There will be a fee for such transactions.”

“Of course.”

“Investments?” Harry asked.

“Come, Harry. Your family was very wealthy. Investing their money was one of the reasons behind it,” said Alice.

“What sort of companies?”

“I see a rather healthy lump of shares in Valicor...” Evstor narrowed his eyes a moment as he glanced at another set of notes that seemed to update for him. “Another rather large lump of shares in a rather large pharmaceutical company... Umbrella Corporation. Menial shares in several rather profitable firms...”

“Could we get a copy of the record?”

Evstor gestured with a finger, producing an identical set of parchment, and pushed it toward Will.

The cart ride down to his vault was one of the craziest rides ever for Harry and Mazhe. Alice and Will, on the other hand, had dealt with wealthy Wizarding clients before, and so had endured the experience of Gringotts carts. Justin had his own vault in Trevelyan, and so had most certainly experienced the carts before. They had to be miles underground by the time they came to a stop, by a small passageway.

“Vault seven-sixty-eight,” said the goblin named Griphook, “Key please.”

Harry handed his key over, and Griphook unlocked the large vault door. A cloud of nasty green smoke billowed out of it, but when it cleared, a large mound of gold coins was revealed.

“Gods,” Harry whispered, “Seeing it on parchment was one thing... seeing it for real is another altogether!”

“Gods above, Harry! You're loaded!” Mazhe exclaimed, while Harry collected a bunch of coins into a black bag. He stopped and shrugged.

“Money doesn't mean a lot to me, Mazhe. You know that. Your friendship's worth more than all the coins in this vault. Stuff like that can't be replaced.”

“And to think, he's only eleven!” Justin mock-exclaimed, and smirked. Harry answered by flinging a knut at him.

“Hey!”

“'least he didn't throw one of the gold ones,” Mazhe smirked, amused.

Will let out a cough, trying to cover up his own amusement, while Alice pursed her lips.

“Right. The gold ones are galleons. Silver are sickles, seventeen of those make up a galleon,” Alice explained, “The bronze ones are knuts, twenty-nine of those make up a sickle. A bit confusing, but you get used to it after a while.”

That earned a sneer from Griphook.

“I'll try and keep that in mind,” said Harry.

After an equally harrowing ride back up to the surface, they set about getting the things required on the equipment list. A visit to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, to pick up his school robes. Next came a stop at Flourish & Blotts, the bookstore. Harry was in there well over a half-hour, as he picked out not just the text books he would need for first year, but a number of other interesting titles as well. A few of them made those with him frown somewhat, but no one said anything different, and so they were added to the stack he purchased. That included one titled, _'Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your friends and befuddle your enemies with the latest revenges: Hair-loss, Jelly-legs, Tongue-tying, and much, much, more)'_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

“What?” Harry asked, seeing Justin's furrowed brows, “Remember Enthir's pranks the first year? Time I returned the favour.”

“Probably be a while before you can do any of the stuff out of that one, Harry,” said Will, shaking his head, “Wait a couple of years.”

“Doesn't mean I can't read up on it.”

“Hey Harry, you mind if I pick out a few books myself?” Mazhe asked.

“Go for it.”

“I'll pay you back.”

“Don't worry about it. You have a birthday in Hearthfire anyway, consider them an early birthday present.”

“All right, fine, I surrender,” said Mazhe, raising his arms in mock-defeat.

“If he's gonna be a while, I have a few more suggestions, things that might make your year a little easier,” said Justin.

After stopping to buy ink and quills, it was a stop in the apothecary to purchase a potions kit and a basic supply of potions ingredients for first year. The shop was fascinating, pungent odour not withstanding—Harry had smelled things much worse, living in Skyrim. Coming across the two-week old rotting corpse of a mammoth was something to behold—or not.

The apothecary reminded Will of a few more books, which resulted in them backtracking to Flourish & Blotts. The Commonwealth had done plenty of research into Hogwarts and what sort of curriculum they offered. That, of course, also involved an investigation into the professors. So it was known that potions could be a real challenge, along with History of Magic. Plans were already in the works to cover at least History of Magic, and if necessary, potions.

The last thing on the list was a wand. Both Will and Alice had decided they would purchase Harry's pet as a birthday—Harry had been adamant it be an owl, both had only laughed and nodded. And so, Harry, Mazhe, and Justin now found themselves on the threshold of Ollivander's, the solitary wandmaker in Diagon Alley.

The place was small, rather dim and dusty, with thousands of boxes piled nearly to the ceiling. The silence was almost stifling, and for some reason, the hairs on the back of Harry's neck were standing on end.

“Good afternoon.”

All three of them nearly jumped out of their skins out of surprise. The first thing they realized, the man was old. Ancient-old, with shining, pale eyes.

“Err. Good afternoon, sir,” Harry answered.

“Ah, yes, I was expecting you, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes.”

“Err... yeah, I've been told that a few times.”

“I remember your mother coming in to purchase her wand. Seems it was only yesterday. Ten and a quarter inches long, made of willow, swishy. Nice wand for charms work.”

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry, and circled the boy.

“Your father on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say that your father favoured it—the wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter.”

Mr. Ollivander stopped so he was facing the boy, and brushed the long hair out of his face, to reveal the infamous scar blazed on his forehead.

“And that's where... I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “Thirteen and a half inches, yew, very powerful wand. Very powerful in the wrong hands. If I'd known—”

“It's not your fault, sir,” said Harry, calmly, although Mr. Ollivander was making him very uncomfortable. His unblinking eyes, and his disregard for a person's personal space and all...

“Indeed, although—“

Mr. Ollivander's attention was finally focused on the other two individuals who had come into the shop with Harry. First focusing his attention on Justin, he inclined his head.

“Justin Fraser. Alder wood, eleven and an eighth inches, unicorn hair, somewhat firm in the hand. Bought at O'toole's Wands and Focii, twelve years ago.”

“Yeah, about right,” Justin agreed, “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

If he was wierded out by the old man's rather intimate knowledge of his wand, he didn't show it.

Mr. Ollivander turned his attention to Mazhe, and for a moment, appeared confused.

“You simply go by Mazhe. A long way from home, young mage. You use nothing to focus your magic?”

“No, sir. The magic is rather different where I'm from,” the boy answered.

“And have you been learning to cast magic in such a manner, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes sir.”

“You will find, then, that casting through a wand—or focus—will be somewhat easier, once you grasp the basics of channelling your magic in that manner. Given you are developing your abilities wandlessly, I would suggest you continue to practice. It is a somewhat rare gift in our world.”

“I plan to. No offense, sir, but I think being forced to rely on a wand serves to only cripple someone's abilities,” said Harry.

“Yes, and there would be a number of individuals who would agree with that sentiment. But, as it is a requirement for attending Hogwarts, shall we begin?”

Mr. Ollivander turned back to Harry, and pulled out what looked like an ordinary tape measure.

“Which is your wand hand?”

“I... err... I'm right handed, sir.”

“Hold out your arm, then—that's it,” said Mr. Ollivander, and the tape went to work on its own accord.

As he shuffled about the shop, he lectured about wand materials and wand cores, and at last told the tape measure to stop.

“All right, Mr. Potter. Beechwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Harry felt a little goofy, but he took the wand and waved it around a bit. Mr. Ollivander snatched it back at once.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches, quite whippy. Try—“

Harry had tried, but had barely had a chance to raise it, when it was snatched back.

“Oak, eight and a quarter inches, unicorn hair, supple.”

This time when Harry gave it a wave, a yellow bolt of magic erupted from the end of it, slammed into a stack of boxes sending them flying, and slammed into the wall with a noisy crack. Harry quickly put the wand back on the counter, looking rather sheepish.

“No, definitely not.”

Harry was handed another.

“Elm, ten and three quarters inches, phoenix feather, flexible. Well?”

“It doesn't feel right, sir. At least with the last one, I got some sort of reaction out of it. This one feels dead to me,” Harry answered.

“Indeed?!” Mr. Ollivander looked impressed. “Give this one a try. Holly and dragon heart string, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

The second Harry's hand closed around the handle, a sudden warmth surged into his fingers. To be certain, he gave the wand a cautious wave, and was rewarded as a wonderful bloom of red sparks burst from the end, ending in a joyous firework.

“Well done, well done, Mr. Potter!”

“It feels nice in the hand. How much do I owe you, sir?”

“Seven galleons. We expect great things from you, Mr. Potter.”

“We'll see,” Harry answered evenly, as he counted out the coins.(3)

The three of them were more than happy to be out of the store, for identical reasons.

“Gods, that was creepy. Think I'd rather deal with a horde of Draugr,” said Harry, with a grimace.

“No kidding. Felt naked in front of him for some reason,” said Mazhe, shaking his head, “How did he know stuff about us?”

“I dunno. Maybe he can read your thoughts or something. I mean, I've heard of that sort of thing, right?”

“I think all wand crafters are similar, guys,” said Justin, as they began heading back toward the Leaky Cauldron, “When I bought my wand at O'toole's it was about the same.”

“Definitely creepy though.”

“Somehow I think we've only seen the tip of it,” said Harry, shaking his head, “I'm beginning to doubt the sanity of my choice, I think.”

“Aw come on, Harry, you'll love it. I went to school in a plain old government building with clinically clean classrooms. You're going to spend ten months in one of the most famous castles in the Wizarding world. For all the problems, its an amazing place.”

“Yeah, I know. Just...”

“Happy birthday Harry!” Both Will and Alice were approaching, with an enormous cage. Inside it, was a beautiful snowy owl.

“Gods... he's beautiful!”

“A she, Harry.”

“Thank you.”

He knelt down so he was eye-level with the beautiful owl.

“You're gorgeous. I hope you don't mind, but I can't name you just now. Have to think on it.”

The owl simply blinked and puffed her feathers. Harry stood up.

“I'll probably want to leave her with someone here while I'm back at the College for the summer. Too many things there that might make a meal out of her.”

“I can probably look after her for you,” Justin offered.

“We'll figure something out when the time comes,” said Alice, “Now. Have you got everything?”

“I think so.”

“Let's grab a bite to eat for lunch, and we can get back to Trevelyan,” Will suggested.

As they had lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry thought over everything he'd just observed. That included the activity that went on around him at the moment (excluding his friends). The place looked to be locked in the eighteenth century—if what he'd learned in history was anything to go by. Was that witch in the corner... smoking a pipe? Sure, he'd seen unusual living at the College... but... he was rapidly coming to the conclusion the English Wizarding world were all off their nut.

He would give it his best go, but really... if everyone was that mental, he would finish his education through the Commonwealth. Things had worked out really well thus far, and as it was, he would want to continue his mundane courses over the floo network, or through owl post.

If anything, the big drive for him to try out Hogwarts, was to meet and possibly make friends with young people his age. Sure, Mazhe was his best friend, hands down, but he was still five years older. And Justin... well, he was like a big brother rather than best friend. He was an excellent teacher, mentor, and friend, but he was more than twice Harry's age. So yes, he really needed some friends his own age.

* * *

The following day, Justin began helping Harry to get used to his wand, and do a few exercises. Since charms were his speciality, it was no surprise that was where he picked up.

“Right. So we'll start with one you already somewhat know how to do. At least the mechanics of it. The lift spell, isn't it?”

“This one, you mean?” Harry flicked a hand at a nearby stack of books, and with a gesture, they all lifted off the floor. However, for further amusement, he flicked his hand at a second stack, setting them in the air also.

“Uh, well, don't know if you can do _that_ with a wand, but... cancel those, and we'll try with your wand.” That had Mazhe smirking, while Harry cancelled the spell. Justin, meanwhile, opened the first year Charms textbook to the appropriate page.

“This details the wand movements, and for a bit of home work, I want you to read the section which covers its theory. Here through here.” He indicated the appropriate passages. “In the meantime, we'll practice the wand movements. Watch carefully.”

Justin produced his wand, and cast toward the stack of books Harry had levitated just a short while before. “Nice swish and a flick... _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

Like with Harry's cast, the books all lifted off the floor.

“Unfortunately, unlike with your spell, I have to keep focus with this charm, or it falls apart.” He broke concentration, and the stack fell back to the ground making a noisy SMACK.

Harry traced the wand motion from the text book a few times, with Justin correcting him, before he actually tried it. Unsurprisingly, the first attempt produced very little. In fact, it was an hour later before he was able to get the books to lift off the floor.

“Much more challenging.”

“You're being forced to channel your magic through a focus, rather than through your hands,” said Mazhe, “It seems unnatural to me, I mean, our hands make much better focii.”

“And if Harry were to start learning magic without a wand, it would make more trouble for him than it's worth. You remember what Mr. Ollivander said about wandless magic,” Justin reminded him.

“This is true. But Harry... humour me a moment. Try using the incantation from your textbook but use your hand to do the wand motion.”

Harry stowed his wand, then produced the correct wand motion, this time just using his hand. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

To his surprise, the stack of books left the floor, exactly as had happened with Justin's casting.

“Now use your other hand.”

The process was repeated, with identical results.

“Damn, Harry.” Justin was clearly impressed.

“But I can't produce the same results with the wand.” Harry was obviously frustrated by this.

“Just as Mazhe and Mr. Ollivander said, you have to get used to channelling your magic in a different manner. Level one magical classes are all about the student getting used to channelling their magic. Just trust the instructors and study the material. You'll get it.”

Justin thought for a moment.

“Okay, so your extra homework during the year. Any time a new spell is introduced, I want you to practice using both your wand and your hands to produce it. Being able to cast without a wand gives you a tremendous advantage.”

“Can you cast without a wand?” Mazhe asked.

“No. Or, not well. Like Mr. Ollivander said, it's a very rare talent, only a few witches and wizards can do it in our world. Or in your case, someone who's been taught from the get-go.”

“I'm gonna miss having you as a teacher, Justin.”

“I'm not going anywhere. And really, if the Commonwealth can swing it, we'll meet by fire call periodically so you can keep up with your non-magical courses.”

“It still won't be the same.”

“You'll do fine. And it's only until the middle of Evening-star. You get a nice long break there. And we've still got a month before you have to go.”

* * *

That month went far faster than Harry would have liked. All too soon, Last Seed came to a close, and the 1st of Hearthfire had arrived(4). It was time to travel to London and meet the Hogwarts Express, which would take him to Hogwarts.

Five years had gone in the blink of an eye. Now, as one chapter of Harry's life came to a close, a new one was about to begin. Sure, his old friends weren't going anywhere, but he would meet some new ones, as well as make a few enemies. One of those would prove an endless source of difficulties for the foreseeable future—the Dark Lord notwithstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Source: p.42 – 43, “Philosopher's Stone”, Canadian paperback edition. Verbatim text.  
> (2) Source: p.56 – 57, “Philosopher's Stone”, Canadian paperback edition.  
> (3) Largely taken from p.63 – 65, “Philosopher's Stone”, Canadian paperback edition. Changes made to suit, etc..  
> (4) Last Seed – August. Hearthfire (Sometimes also written as Hearth Fire) – September.


	4. First Year, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins his first year at Hogwarts. He meets some new friends, but begins to doubt his choice in attending the school based on several matters that come up.

# 4: FIRST YEAR, PART 1

**September 1 – October 31, 2001**

* * *

_September 1, 2001_

As had been the case with the shopping trip to Diagon Alley, Harry was once again up at an ungodly hour, due to the time difference. Seven hours' difference, as a matter of fact. To make the train at 11 o'clock, it meant they had to be in Trevelyan for 3 o'clock in the morning. That gave them time to travel by floo powder to Erwin, then take a port key the rest of the journey. Harry wanted to get settled on the train with plenty of time to spare.

At 10 o'clock, he arrived by port key not far from Kings Cross, one of the largest train stations in London. The bit about Platform nine and three quarters was a little confusing, but Alice had immediately solved it. Harry was certainly her first case from England, but another co-worker had dealt with that sort of thing before, and so knew the answer.

Now, the small group comprising of Harry, Justin, Mazhe, and Alice stood on the platform for tracks nine and ten, looking for a certain support column. Mazhe wanted to be there to see Harry off, considering he was his best friend. The government was only happy to oblige, since it was nothing to make a port key to the college and back. In this case, Justin had promised to take Mazhe back to Skyrim.

As to how to enter platform nine and three quarters, that was quickly solved a short while later, when a short, plump woman walked by, along with four boys and a girl, all of them with bright ginger hair, almost brighter than Mazhe's.

“--packed with Muggles of course--” the woman was muttering. She stopped at the next brick column, and Harry listened carefully.

“Now what's the platform number?”

“Nine and three quarters!” piped up the girl—she held the woman's hand tightly. “Mum, can't I go?”

“Not until next year, dear. All right, Percy, you first.”

The boy, clearly the oldest in the group, steered his cart straight for the barrier—and passed straight through it. Next were a pair of identical twins, teasing the mother as they went—both vanishing quickly in succession.

“Looks simple enough,” said Harry.

“Oh. Hello dear,” said the woman, “First time to Hogwarts? Ron's new too.” She gestured to the remaining boy. He was just as tall as Harry, gangly, with lots of freckles.

“Err. Hi,” said Harry, a little shyly. This was someone his own age. Last thing he needed was to make an arse of himself.

“You're wondering how to get onto the platform?” The woman asked, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.

“No, ma'am,” Harry answered, “Just didn't know which, uh, column it was.” He indicated the column where Ron's older brothers had disappeared.

“C'mon, we'd better hurry,” said Alice, shepherding Harry and the others toward the column. They stepped through without missing a beat.

The modern platform was gone, replaced by a busy platform with a shiny red vintage steam-pulled train. The sign overhead read: ' _Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock'_. Behind him, rather than a solid column, there was a wrought iron gate with a sign above it reading: _Platform Nine and Three Quarters_. It would be easy to remember from this point on.

“Right. I guess this is where we leave you,” said Alice, “You have any problems whatsoever, don't hesitate to write.”

“Gonna miss you guys.”

“You'll always be my best friend, Harry, but try and make some new ones, okay? Write me in a few days, tell me how it is,” said Mazhe.

“Count on it.”

“And you'll likely hear from me in a few days,” said Justin, “The Ministry's talking to the deputy headmistress about having me work with you via fire call.”

“That would be wicked.”

After embracing his best friend, and waving good bye, he was off down the platform, pushing the trolley containing his school trunk and Hedwig's cage. Thinking back on it, he realized he probably should have bought some sort of cover so as not to attract so much attention on the non-magical side.

He looked back, and saw Mazhe and Justin just as they vanished through the gate. So he was truly on his own now, for the first time since he'd been taken away from the Dursleys. Nearly four months away from everything and everyone he knew. Really, was this a good idea?

He sucked in a breath, then pushed his cart toward the rear of the train—it seemed like the first few carriages were already full of students. Last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by a crowd of people—strangers.

He picked up bits and pieces of conversation as he moved down the platform... some boy had actually brought a toad as a pet? By the sounds of the person with him—grandmother, likely, it had not been his choice. Seriously... a toad? A group of older boys were gathered around a dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks, whispering in hushed tones—something nefarious, no doubt.

He tuned everything out, and finally found an empty compartment. Rather than huffing and puffing, lifting the heavy trunk on board, he simply gestured with a hand, and let magic do the work. The lift spell was something he mastered several years prior, as he had telekinesis. Combined, he could put things exactly where he wanted them—or send an enemy flying. A few bandits in a camp east of Winterhold had found that out the hard way.

Naturally, more than a few people saw this, but he ignored the questions and climbed aboard. 'You'd think no one around here's seen magic before', he snorted in his mind, as he stowed everything neatly in a corner of the compartment. Up to this point, he'd never actually ridden on a train before—sure, he'd seen them, but never actually been on one. So this was a new experience. The compartment was spacious enough, with two benches which faced each other, and a large window. Outside, a small crowd of people were still pointing and talking amongst themselves—they really needed to get over it. He'd done magic, so what?

The train suddenly lurched, and they were moving, leaving the crowd and the platform behind. A seven-hour ride, according to Alice. Alice had bought him lunch for later, and she'd made sure he had lots to eat before he left, so hunger wouldn't be an issue. And of course, there would be a snack trolley come by at some point.

Harry settled into the forward-facing seat, and pulled out his copy of _One Thousand Herbs and Magical Fungi_ , along with a copy of _The Alchemist's Master Primer_ (a book he'd found in the College library). Potions seemed to be somewhat different than alchemy, but they did share similarities. The worry was, the professor. The Commonwealth had again done its homework with regard to all the teachers at Hogwarts, and of all of them, Professor Severus Snape was perhaps one of the worst. Sure, he was a brilliant potions master, and rightly qualified in the subject, but as a teacher? The man was horribly biased, and in some cases was downright cruel in the classroom. Great, last thing Harry needed, considering potions was a core subject.

Harry's thoughts on the matter were interrupted, as the door to the compartment slid open, and the youngest Weasley boy entered. “Anyone sitting there?”

His eyes flicked to the opposite bench.

“Everywhere else is full.”

“No, sit there if you like,” Harry answered.

He watched as the boy took a seat, and glanced out the window. Harry shrugged, and decided to be polite.

“I'm Harry. I...”

“Blimey, you're Harry Potter!” the red-head exclaimed.

“Since the day I was born. But... who are you?”

“Ron. Ron Weasley.” The boy then fell silent, but looked as though he were dying to ask a question.

“What?”

“Well... I mean... have you really got... you know...”

Ron pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry rolled his eyes, and pushed his hair out of his face, to reveal the infamous lightning bolt scar.

“So that's where you-know-who—“

“Voldemort,” said Harry, flatly.

Ron Gasped.

“What?”

“ _You said you-know-who's name!_ ” said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed, “I thought you of all people—”

“It's just a name, and a stupid one at that,” answered Harry, rolling his eyes. “He's a bully. A terrorist. Or was.”

He fixed his hair to cover the scar up.

“And scars? I've got worse than that.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his jumper, revealing a nasty set of puncture marks.

“What did that?”

“Frostbite spider,” Harry answered.

Ron visibly shivered.

“You don't like spiders.”

“No.”

“Sorry.”

Harry rolled the sleeve back down.

“Where I grew up, there were lots of things that wanted to have me for dinner. And frankly, spiders were the least of my worries.”

Ron shivered again.

“They scare you that much?”

Ron gave a stiff nod.

“I won't mention it again then. Gods, some of the things I saw when I was younger... nothing wrong with a bit of fear. Otherwise you get a big head.”

He stuck a bookmark in his textbook, and closed it.

“So, are all of your family wizards?”

That launched into a conversation about their families, or at least Ron's. The Weasleys sounded like a wonderful family, with more than enough love to make up for their shortcomings financially. The boy in front of Harry, however, still seemed to be oblivious to this. Wealth came in many forms, after all, and from Harry's standpoint, the Weasleys were incredibly wealthy.

As expected, the trolley came by sometime during the lunch hour, and Harry bought a few items to share with his new friend. Given he'd seen more than a few of those items before, it wasn't such a shock. The Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans were great fun—he'd had them before, as had Mazhe. Harry smirked (after spitting out one that tasted like dog ear wax).

“What?”

“My best friend's not magical, see? Err... well, not versed in magic like our world. A few weeks ago we had some of these.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He got one that tasted like dog poop.”

“Oh, rotten luck there.”

“The look on his face was priceless.”

“But... you're not supposed to be showing magic to Muggles, least that's what mum says.”

“Where I grew up, it doesn't matter. Muggles know about us. And my best friend is magical in a different way. I mean, he wields magic differently.”

“No way.”

“I was, um, rescued when I was six, from my Muggle relatives in Surrey. I was taken by the Commonwealth of Valicadia.”

“Never heard of it,” Ron answered, as he unwrapped another chocolate frog. Ron's pet rat had stuck its head into one of the empty wrappers, licking the sticky remnants from inside of it.

“Not many people have. I think the British Ministry of Magic knows about them, but most of the public don't. 'Least that's what my guardians have explained. But I've only actually lived in the Commonwealth itself for a couple of months. I spent the last five years... somewhere else... it's hard to explain, almost like a different world altogether, I suppose.”

“Wicked.”

“Their magic is different than ours. And that's where my best friend is from.”

Their discussion was interrupted by a knock on the compartment door. A small, round-faced boy was there, clearly upset about something.

“Sorry,” he said, “But has anyone seen a toad at all?”

“Afraid not,” said Harry, shaking his head. Ron did as well, and the boy wailed, “I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“I'm sure he'll turn up,” said Harry, with a smile.

“Yes,” said the boy, miserably, “But... if you see him...”

He was gone.

“A toad? Really? Owls are more useful,” said Harry, “Though I don't think it was his fault. Saw him earlier with an older lady—guessing his grandmother. I don't think that boy has a lot of say in many things. His position, I'd go mental.”

“I would have lost it soon as I could,” Ron Muttered, “Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk.”

Their discussion was again interrupted when the compartment door slid open again. The boy missing his toad was back, joined this time by a girl already dressed in her Hogwarts robes.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one.” She carried a bossy tone, bushy brown hair, overly-large front teeth, and chocolate-brown eyes.

“We've already told him we haven't seen it,” said Ron, impatiently.

“Hold on. Should have offered earlier,” said Harry, holding out a hand over his head.

“What're you doing?”

“Just wait,” said Harry, and what seemed like a few seconds later, the missing animal smacked into his hand. “Would this be it?”

“Trevor!” the round-faced boy exclaimed, claiming his missing pet.

“You cast a spell wandlessly! How? I mean, I've tried a few simple spells just for practice,” said the girl, “No magic in my family at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased—”

“You're a Muggle-born then,” said Harry.

“I--” The girl seemed to think a moment, since the boy had interrupted her train of thought. “I'm Hermione Granger,” she said, “And this is Neville Longbottom.”

“Harry Potter. And this is Ron Weasley.”

“Are you really?” said Hermione, “Well, I know all about you of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ ”

“And all of it's hearsay,” Harry said, dismissively, “I was there and even I don't know exactly what happened. Voldemort hit me with the killing curse, and I survived. All I know.”

Harry debated about mentioning the prophecy, but chose not to. It wasn’t their business.

“But wandlessly…” Hermione was back to her original point. “It’s very rare at all… and for an eleven year old—“

“Like I said to Ron, I was raised somewhere else. Magic’s a part of life there, right? And they do everything without a wand. For example.”

He gestured with a hand, causing the pair of textbooks he’d dug out to lift into the air. They hovered for a moment, then settled back down to their original resting place on top of his trunk.

“Levitation charm,” Hermione said, recognizing the spell.

“Except that where I learned it, we call it telekinesis. Moving something without touching it,” said Harry.

“Blimey, when did you start learning?” questioned Neville.

He was relatively silent up to this point, impressed with the fact someone his own age had been able to do something that many grown wizards couldn’t.

“Shortly after I was taken away from my relatives’. I was six years old. Telekinesis is probably one of the more difficult ones I learned, but probably one of the safest I can show here. Most of the magic I know is offensive… necessary where I was raised, see.”

“Why?”

“The wildlife there is, uh, really scary. Never mind the undead things that like to inhabit barrows and caves.”

Harry made a nasty face remembering some of the experiences.

“A few times… Gods, Mazhe and Justin saved my arse.” Harry grinned though. “Glad for those experiences though. Mazhe's my best friend. Glad I have Hedwig, she’ll be getting lots of leg work once the term starts.”

“He’s beautiful,” said Neville.

“She,” Harry corrected, “A gift from my guardians.”

The conversation flowed freely for the next couple of hours, as the four young people got to know each other. He found out that Neville lived with his grandmother, since his parents had been attacked by Death Eaters—interestingly, very close to the time Harry’s parents had been murdered by Voldemort. Hermione, being a Muggle-born, had only recently learned she was a witch. She loved to read, and had already read all of her textbooks, and then some. And Ron… the youngest boy of seven siblings. His twin brothers were in third year, while an older sibling still, Percy, was in fifth year and had been made a Prefect.

The conversation was again disturbed somewhat later, as the compartment door slid open, and three boys entered said compartment. Two of them were rather large, with faces only a mother could love. The third was rather thin, with rat-like features, and white-blond hair. Harry had dealt with people like this before. It usually didn’t fare well for them. His age was rather deceiving, after all.

“We heard Harry Potter was on the train,” the blond drawled.

“Maybe,” Harry hedged, “Who’are you and what do you want?”

The boy frowned at the partial snub. “This is Crabbe, and Goyle. And my name’s Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Ron let out a little cough which might have been to cover up a snigger. Malfoy sneered at Ron.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who _you_ are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

He turned back to Harry.

“You’ll find some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

He held out a hand to shake, but Harry didn’t take it.

“I can make up my own mind who the wrong sort are myself, thank you. Now please leave our compartment,” said Harry, evenly.

Malfoy’s face didn’t go red, but his cheeks turned a turned a light pink. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly.

“No…, I don’t think we will,” answered Malfoy. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either—“

Both Harry and Ron stood up.

“Leave on your own, or leave horizontal,” said Harry, calmly.

“Oh, you’re gonna fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered. “No, we don’t feel like leaving. We’ve eaten our food, and you seem to still have some.”

Crabbe reached for one of the chocolate frogs—and that’s as far as he got. A purple orb of magic appeared in Harry’s right hand, and he flung it at Malfoy—striking him in the chest.

Malfoy let out a girlish shriek, and his groin instantly became damp, as he fled the compartment, red-faced.

Harry smirked at the pair of gorillas that still remained rooted to the floor. “Care to share in his humiliation? Leave. NOW.”

The pair needed no further encouragement, but fled almost as fast as their leader. The purple glow vanished from Harry's hand.

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaimed, still in awe of what had just happened.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something... closed it... opened again, and still couldn't come up with adequate words.

“It was a fear spell,” said Harry, clearing up the confusion, “Doesn't work so well against bandits, but...”

“Malfoy's gonna need a clean pair of trousers... I think,” said Neville, quietly.

Hermione at last found her voice.

“But... you shouldn't have done that,” she scolded, “You'll be in trouble once we get to school.”

“I don't care,” answered Harry, bluntly, “If Hogwarts wants to expel me before school even starts, just because I stood up for myself and my new friends, then so be it. Perhaps I should've stayed at the College.”

* * *

Before he realized it, Harry and his new friends were gliding across a mirror-smooth lake, in small boats. They were heading toward an enormous castle perched atop a cliff side, with numerous illuminated windows, turrets, and towers, silhouetted against the night sky. Harry had seen a few castles after all, having visited the _Palace of the Kings_ in Windhelm, but this... the castle he was now seeing, seemed to dwarf them all. He was then officially impressed.

Then, they were being led up to a set of imposing wooden doors slightly larger than the main gates of Windhelm. Hagrid, their half-giant escort, raised a giant fist, and thumped on the door three times. It opened at once on its own accord, and standing inside was a tall witch in emerald green robes and a tall witches' hat. She had a stern face, and wore a pair of square spectacles. This woman was not someone to cross for any reason, Harry realized.

“The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid announced.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here.”

After a brief mention of the procedure that would follow—as well as encountering a few resident ghosts (Harry almost cursed one of them, having already had a not-so-pleasant experience with such things back in Skyrim)—the group was led into the Great Hall by the stern witch. The room was truly magical, lit by what seemed like thousands of floating candles. There were four long tables, at which the rest of the student body sat, their place settings being made of silver and gold—at least it seemed. At the front of the room, on a raised dais, was the head table, where the rest of the teaching staff sat. Professor McGonagall led the first years up to this table, and had them face the rest of the school, with the teachers behind them. Harry looked up, and saw, instead of a solid ceiling, what looked like a clear night sky with an infinite carpet of twinkling stars. It had sounded wicked in _Hogwarts, a History_ , but to see it for real? The description didn't do it justice.

He was lost in thought as the ceremony moved on. Thus far, other than the encounter with Malfoy on the train, things had been rather positive. He'd met three new people—perhaps the main purpose of this exercise. Whether three friends would come of that, still remained to be seen, but one had to start somewhere, did they not? Then, of course, there was his magical education. A castle this cool? He laughed in his head, with the ideas of what kind of things he would learn here.

He was so lost in thought, that he missed virtually all of the sorting. In fact, Professor McGonagall had to call his name twice before he heard. And then he noticed the whispers and muttering throughout the hall. Ah, the fish bowl. He'd been warned about this, of course. He pushed that out of his mind, took a seat on the four-legged stool, and allowed Professor McGonagall to put the rather dirty-looking hat on his head. He was somewhat in the dark, but he waited...

“Hmm,” said a small voice, “A thirst to prove yourself? And a sharp mind to boot... but no, courage is your strength, I see... better be GRYFFINDOR!” The last bit was shouted for the entire hall.

* * *

Surprisingly, Harry slept well his first night in Gryffindor tower, even with the commotion of everyone settling in. He'd met his dorm mates during the feast—or sooner, in the case of Ron and Neville. Seamus was a sandy-haired Irish boy—half-blood, as Harry remembered now. And rounding out the group, was a dark-skinned boy named Dean. He'd not said a whole lot between the feast and that night as they settled in. All in all, they seemed a friendly bunch, so maybe that wouldn't be such a bad deal in the end.

At breakfast, as Professor McGonagall handed out their timetables, she informed Harry the headmaster wished to see him right after breakfast. A glance toward the head table confirmed he was not there, and so likely still waiting in his office.

“Err... I've not been to his office yet,” said Harry, “Where do I find it?”

“I will take him,” Percy offered, overhearing the conversation.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” said Professor McGonagall. She was already moving on, passing out timetables to the others. Harry chanced a glance at the Slytherin table (Where Malfoy had ended up), and sure enough, the pale boy was smirking. Of course the spineless fool had run to a teacher. Perhaps another dose of fear might set him to rights. He blew out a breath, and turned back to his half-eaten breakfast. He'd expected to make a few enemies here, but before even arriving at the school? That was beyond frustrating.

The headmaster's office was an amazing room. It was circular, with what seemed like hundreds of portraits on the walls—their occupants all seemed to be asleep at this hour. There were book cases filled with books, as well as a number of tables, all covered in small silver instruments which were whirring and letting off little wisps of white smoke. And at the centre of it, rested an enormous desk with great claw feet. The room seemed to be vacant—until a musical cry came from behind him. By the door stood a golden perch, and resting on it, was one of the most beautiful birds Harry had ever seen. It had crimson plumage, roughly about the size of a swan, and black, beady eyes.

“Oh, hello there,” Harry greeted, and crossed over to get a closer look.

It seemed to regard the boy a moment, then let out another wonderful string of notes that seemed to lift his heart.

“Ah, good morning, Harry.”

Harry turned to find the missing headmaster had appeared at his desk, carrying a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Good morning, Professor. I, uh, received your summons, sir.”

“Yes, indeed. Won't you come have a seat?”

Professor Dumbledore indicated a plush chair in front of the desk that had not been there before. Harry grinned in spite of himself as he sat down. Conjuration was one of his more difficult subjects.

“If this is about yesterday, sir...”

“Yes, among two items I did need to speak to you about. I do have to ask, exactly what did you do to Draco? Professor Snape had a most difficult time getting some sort of explanation from him.”

“It's hard to explain, sir. Imagine having to experience the thing that scares you the most, multiplied several times over.”

“What you describe sounds something like a boggart.”

“No. Something worse,” Harry answered, “Sir, I've seen people like him. Just like I somehow expected we would be having this conversation—if not this morning, sometime in the near future. The only way to deal with people like that is with brute, irrefutable force. It's the only thing people like Draco Malfoy understand.”

“No matter what he might be, it doesn't give you reason or excuse to cause him harm, Harry.”

The headmaster maintained a neutral expression, but Harry could read the old wizard's body language. He was displeased with Harry's answer.

“Just like he doesn't,” Harry countered, “He will hide in the shadows, attack those who might be weak, then plead innocence. Just like he's doing now. I don't go out of my way to attack people. I don't have time for enemies. But Malfoy crossed me yesterday, because he insulted me, my parents, and my new friends, then decided to help himself to the candies and treats we had without us offering. And not to mention, he also made a not-so-subtle death threat. I only taught him a lesson, and quite honestly, I hope not to have to do it again. It isn't a nice thing to do to someone... but neither is being a git and a bully.”

“I see.”

Professor Dumbledore leaned back in his chair a moment.

“Ten points will be taken from Gryffindor for your conduct. Although you acted defending the honour of your friends and your parents, it is still not acceptable to openly attack another student.”

“Fair enough. Though points should be taken from Malfoy as well. He did instigate things. I have three other witnesses who can confirm that. He said, and I quote, ' _Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents_.'”

“Indeed. I shall speak to Professor Snape about his student. I do agree his behaviour was equally unacceptable.”

“Glad we agree,” said Harry.

“The other reason I asked for you to visit, then. I understand you've not been living with your relatives.”

“No, sir, although I wonder why that would matter to you. I was treated like a live-in servant since I was able to reach the cooker. On my sixth birthday, I was rescued by a group of people, taken out of England, and sent to a place where I learned magic, among other things. I was treated well, made loads of friends, and arrived here far better prepared than had I stayed with the Dursleys. Honestly sir, if they died tomorrow I would likely raise a cup to their graves. I can only imagine what kind of things mum's gonna say to Petunia when they meet up on the other side.”

Professor Dumbledore frowned, as he took in what the young boy in front of him told him. Surely, things couldn’t have been that bad? Although… Minerva had warned him they were the worst sort of Muggles. Still… the protection his mother had given him was far more important than any sort of discomfort the boy might have experienced, and a less-than-ideal existence would have proven the boy a little more malleable. He would have to sort all this out. The more important thing to find out then, was where exactly the boy had been staying.

“Harry, they are your legal guardians. Whoever removed you from your relatives did so without legal permission.”

“You can’t be serious, sir. I honestly don’t know what happened to them, but I know Aurors from the Commonwealth were seeing to them when I was taken away by port key. I can only hope they ended up in jail, they deserved no less.”

“You mean the Commonwealth of Valicadia,” the headmaster clarified.

“Yes sir. Though I’ve spent maybe a month there all told. The social workers were very kind.”

Dumbledore leaned forward, and steeped his long fingers in front of him.

“I see. I do have to wonder, why did you choose to attend Hogwarts, if you were already enrolled at a school somewhere else?”

“It’s simple, Professor. This is the world I was born into. And the place where I was taught most of what I know already… there’s only one other boy there even close to my age, and he’s going on sixteen. He’s my best friend, of course, but still… my guardians thought it was better if I learned magic here.”

Professor Dumbledore again leaned back in his chair. Harry Potter was nothing like what he had expected. The boy was not arrogant, but he knew exactly where he stood and what he wanted—and equally, what he didn’t want. He obviously had a number of supportive people around him. Still…

“Where was it exactly you were studying?”

“It’s a place called Tamriel, and more specifically, the province of Skyrim. They have a college that teaches the magical arts, the College of Winterhold. There are a number of branches of magic someone can study, such as illusion, or alteration, or destruction. Destruction is my favoured branch at this point, but illusion is second, I think. What I did to Malfoy yesterday was in the illusion branch.”

“Fascinating.”

Inwardly, however, the old wizard was alarmed. The boy was already delving into dark magic, and he was barely eleven! No, the boy needed to be put back with his relatives. The wards would be severely weakened, but if he remained there the entire summer, they should recover. Lots of time to undo the damage. And Dumbledore had the entire school year to tidy things up. He rose from his seat.

“I think that’s all the questions I have for you.” He drew his wand and gestured at a sheet of parchment. “This is a note excusing your tardiness. Off you go.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, accepting the note.

Professor Dumbledore watched the boy leave. He was nothing like he’d expected… even physically. He’d noticed that last night during the welcome banquet. The boy looked more like twelve or thirteen, not just-turned-eleven. And the way he carried himself… he acted more like a fourteen or fifteen-year-old. Inwardly, he was more than thankful the boy had decided to come back. It meant there was still a chance… a chance to pull him back to the light side. And the Commonwealth? He would have to speak to his colleagues in the ICW.

* * *

He very quickly discovered things were... slow. _Terribly_ slow. Compared with what he had been learning back at the College of Winterhold, it was like someone used to driving a motorcycle being put back on a tricycle. History of magic was terrible, all considering the professor was dead. Yes, a _ghost_ was teaching a core class. Herbology was actually interesting, since he was able to compare the various kinds of plants there to what he knew in Skyrim. But the others? At this point, it was mostly theory, with very little practical lessons.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was, up to this point, the absolute worst. The professor was a blathering fool, as far as Harry was concerned, with the fake stutter. He was a lousy actor. Another incompetent teacher for a core subject. Harry figured the man wouldn’t last two seconds in a real fight—he nearly passed out at the bare suggestion of the subject he was supposed to be an expert on! That didn’t even begin to deal with the man’s appearance. The classroom smelled of garlic—come to think of it, HE smelled of garlic, and wore a turban on his head that smelled even worse. Harry knew he would likely not learn a whole lot from this particular class… at least not by attending it. He would likely get more through independent study.

Potions, on the other hand, proved slightly more interesting, if at first, for the wrong reasons.

“Potter!” Snape said suddenly, “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry had only sat there, totally confused, as had Ron. Hermione, meanwhile, had her hand in the air.

“I, uh, don’t know, sir.”

“Tut, tut—fame clearly isn’t everything.”

He ignored Hermione’s hand.

“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

This one, Harry remembered. Hermione knew, too, as her hand was again in the air.

“In the stomach of a goat, sir. It can save you from most poisons.”

Snape looked momentarily shocked. Then his lip curled into a snarl. Harry, however, wasn’t done. 'Time to pull the rug out from under his show,' he muttered in his head.

“A bezoar won’t save someone from these, however.” He reached into his robe and pulled out a small bottle. “Consuming the contents of this vial will be fatal. I know someone who can make a batch much smaller than these with much stronger potency.”

Snape swooped down to his desk, to inspect the strange potion.

“Where did you make this concoction?”

“It was hastily made with a friend’s help,” Harry answered, “He’s better at alchemy than I am. Though what I understand, potions is much more, uh, colourful as far as what you can do.”

“That would be a more than accurate assessment, Potter,” Snape sneered, “What sort of ingredients are in this?”

“Something called Imp Stool, along with something called Death Bell… hold on, I might have a Death Bell, they’re a common plant in Skyrim.”

He dug in his rucksack for a moment, and found what he was looking for. To those observing, it looked somewhat like a pine cone, except that it was a light purple shade.

“Here, sir. I’ve already shared a few with Professor Sprout, she was most interested in them. You can also have the potion, I’ve got an ample supply.”

“Indeed.”

Snape snatched up both items, and marched back up to the front of the room. Intending to put Potter in his place, he was instead treated to a show and tell, and was then completely out of balance.

“For your information, Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death—well? Why aren’t you all writing this down?”

The class had progressed from there, with Snape watching Harry closely. The boy was nothing like what he’d expected. He worked quickly and efficiently, and in some ways it was painful to watch. Instead of Harry—the carbon copy of Snape’s nemesis—he was seeing Lily, his first love. Snape could never hate Lily, and now, he realized, neither could he hate her son.

* * *

Immediately following breakfast Saturday morning, Professor McGonagall brought Harry up to her office, where he was surprised to find Will, Alice, and Justin waiting for him.

“Mazhe wasn't able to come, since Tolfdir sent him out on an errand to Windhelm,” Justin explained, “But he did pass along a letter for you.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

“How was your first week at school, Harry?”

“Brilliant,” he answered, and began to detail the highlights of his first week at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall politely excused herself, giving the four of them privacy.

“And you're making some new friends?”

“Yeah, I think so. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom—we all met on the train. Neville and Ron are both from Wizarding families, and Hermione is a Muggle-born. Still a really smart witch though, she loves to read.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Justin smirked.

“Right.” Harry only rolled his eyes. Then he asked, “Any chance of me getting someone to come in and tutor history? The only thing the professor here is good for, is putting people to sleep.”

“I'll look into it,” said Alice, “We're certainly aware of the professor here. I do also have to ask... though you said your potions lesson yesterday was interesting... how did you get along with Professor Snape?”

“At first... not well. But I think I may have him, uh, neutralized.”

“You didn't—“ Will began.

“He started asking me questions no level one potions student would ever know. I got one of them right and turned his unfair pop-quiz into a show and tell. Now as to what will happen in the future...”

“Let us know if he becomes too much, we'll set up some sort of substitute.”

“Right. As it stands, it looks like Professor McGonagall is willing to let me come through the floo on Tuesday evenings, to keep you caught up with your non-magical courses,” said Justin.

“Sounds good to me.”

“That'll also let us come and check in with you periodically. Though it needs not be said, if there's anything that's bothering you, don't hesitate to send an owl. Whether or not people here in magical England care about you, we most certainly do,” said Alice.

“It's always meant a lot to me,” said Harry, “I didn't really say it enough five years ago, but thank you. My life has been loads better than it was at the Dursleys.”

“It was nothing for us to do so, and it was the right thing to do. Your aunt and uncle were monstrous people who had no business looking after you.”

“I never asked, but... what became of Dudley?”

“He was placed with his paternal aunt, Marjorie Dursley--”

“Aunt Marge?” Harry let out a giggle. “Having to take care of him twenty-four-seven will be a real eye-opener, I think.”

That simply got a smirk out of Justin, as he opened up his satchel, and pulled out numerous books and papers.

“We've got the morning for now, so let's get started.”

Harry only grinned and nodded, taking a seat at the table that had been provided.

* * *

Unfortunately, the following Tuesday, there was no summons from Professor McGonagall. Immediately, Harry had to wonder if the school had decided to prevent his meetings with the Commonwealth—he'd been warned of that possibility. Did Professor McGonagall change her mind? Or was it Dumbledore? Credence to that, was the fact the headmaster had not shown up for dinner.

He intercepted the deputy headmistress as she passed the table on her way out.

“Professor, did my... uh, friends...”

“No, Potter, they haven't contacted me yet. I will send for you if they do.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

That, naturally, had his friends asking questions.

“I have non-magical courses I'm taking,” Harry answered, simply, “Math, science, stuff like that. I'm supposed to meet with a tutor tonight after dinner.”

“But... why do you need those Muggle courses, mate?” Ron asked.

“Because it's what I'm used to. I do plan on completing my non-magical education as well. That's what would be expected of me if I went to school in the Commonwealth. Magical education is only part of the school system there, not separate from it.”

“Really?” Hermione was intrigued by the concept. Ron and a few others looked skeptical.

“Sounds like a load of work to me,” Ron muttered. There were a few nods of agreement.

“Yeah, if you're not used to it. Me, I've gotten used to it. Try balancing non-magical classes with beginning lessons on the core magics being taught here, as well as the five magical schools being taught at the college where I stayed. Let's see, seventeen or eighteen subjects.”

“You're mental,” Ron declared, shaking his head.

“Not much of a social life,” Dean threw in.

“I was the youngest student in the college. Even if I hadn't had the class schedule I did, I wouldn't have much of a social life anyway. If anything, this is less busy.”

It wasn't until breakfast the following morning before Harry learned as to why Justin hadn't come to visit. The letter came by owl, along with a copy of the _Commonwealth Standard_ , the national newspaper.

 

_Harry,_

_My apologies for not meeting with you as planned yesterday evening, but some terrible things have happened in the non-magical world yesterday morning. A series of attacks happened in New York and Washington, causing a great many deaths and injuries._

_Granted, this happened in a foreign country, but to a neighbour all the same. The Commonwealth went into a protective stance, unsure as to how this related to the magical world. Up to this point, the government is still unsure as to whether these attacks were perpetrated by wizards or mundane people, so security is still very tight. That means, no international floo connections (or I would be telling this to you in person, rather through this letter)._

_As it stands, the government may also be sending security to keep an extra eye on you for the next little while—this according to Will—and although you may not appreciate the extra attention that may draw, understand that the Commonwealth only wants to keep you safe._

_With luck, the extra security won't last too long, and we'll be able to pick up on our lessons next week. I send this week's lessons along with this letter, simply touch it with your wand when you're ready. I also attach a copy of today's paper, in case you're curious._

_I'll try and answer any questions you have when we next meet._

_Be safe,  
Justin_

 

“Mara preserve us,” Harry muttered, as he glanced at the paper.

_TERROR IN NEW YORK_ , the headline blazed. The picture that took up the upper half of the paper featured a wide-angle shot of the city in question, with a massive column of smoke rising into the clear afternoon sky.

“What happened—Merlin!” Hermione caught a glimpse of the front page of the paper as well.

“A very dark thing, Hermione,” Harry answered, “Gods... he didn't explain exactly what, but... massive destruction.”

“It was a Muggle plane... or a pair of them,” said Dean. He had received mail of his own. “They blew up some really tall buildings, by crashing into them.”

“But why?” This from Ron.

“The same reason Voldemort attacked me when I was a year old,” answered Harry, “To cause fear and panic. Nothing more. Whoever did this... they're monsters.”

That, of course caused the predictable reaction, with numerous sighs and gasps coming from those within earshot. Neville looked about ready to faint.

“Oh come off it, it's just a name and a silly one at that.”

* * *

As promised, the following Tuesday, Justin was able to explain things a bit better than through the letter. The Commonwealth had decided not to send extra security, and for that, Harry was thankful. He was still getting used to the extra stares and the whispers. Justin simply encouraged him to focus on his studies. They were thousands of miles away from the incident, under some of the strongest wards in the magical world. It was one thing the Commonwealth agreed on: Hogwarts was perhaps one of the safest places to be in.

* * *

Their first flying lesson came a week later, paired with the Slytherins. Harry had only seen Malfoy during Potions class—the only class the two houses shared together… and perhaps that was a good thing. It was clear from day one the two houses disliked each other—and perhaps, dislike was rather tame.

The lesson took place on the grounds on the opposite side of the castle to the forbidden forest. The Slytherins were already there, along with twenty broomsticks lying on the ground. Harry had heard George complain about them, something about them acting strangely at high altitudes, among other things. He took that warning with a grain of salt, hearing of their crazy antics from Ron.

The teacher had short grey hair and yellow eyes, resembling a hawk.

“Well? What are you all waiting for?” she barked, “Everyone stand by a broom stick. Come on, hurry up!”

Harry looked at his broom. It wasn’t in bad shape, but a couple of twigs were out of order. Still, he was somewhat excited, having not actually flown ever… magically or otherwise.

“Now hold your right hand over the broom,” Madam Hooch instructed, “and say ‘UP’ Nice and firmly.”

“Up,” Harry commanded, and the broom smacked into his hand at once, but it was one of the few which did. Hermione, who was beside him, could only get the broom to roll over, like some dog unable to learn a new trick. Neville’s hadn’t moved at all. Maybe it was a fear thing.

“A little more firmly, mate,” said Harry, to Neville.

“Up!” Neville spoke, and this time the broom smacked into his hand.

“And Hermione… same thing. Show it who’s in charge.”

“I… I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can. It’s like an animal. It knows if you’re afraid of it.”

Hermione let out a huff.

“UP!” she spoke, a little louder. The broom rolled over again, but this time zoomed up into her hand. That got a bright smile out of her.

“C’mon. We’re the brave house, right?” Harry whispered, “Best foot forward.”

“I suppose.”

“No, Harry’s right,” Neville agreed, “We can do this… I mean, we’re wizards and witches, and any self-respecting witch or wizard needs to be able to mount a broom.”

“All right, that’s enough chatter,” said Madam Hooch.

She then began showing each of them how to properly mount the broom, and how to grip it properly.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard,” Madam Hooch instructed. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle. Three... two—“

Unfortunately, Neville kicked off too soon, afraid to be left behind, and with the teacher shouting for him to come back, he was going straight up, out of control. The boy looked terrified, and lost his grip, sliding off the broom, and... with a sickening WHACK, he collided with the ground and did not move.

“Stay back!” Madam Hooch commanded, striding up to the injured student. Harry debated about getting involved, but decided best not to. The teaching staff surely knew what they were doing, right?

Neville finally opened his eyes, and it was evident he was in a lot of pain. His face was ghost-white.

“Broken wrist,” Madam Hooch muttered, “Come on boy, it's all right. Up you get.”

She turned to the rest of the class.

“None of you are to move until I come back. You leave those brooms right where they are or you'll be out of here before you can say Quidditch.”

She turned back to Neville.

“Come on, dear.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, the Slytherins burst out laughing.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?!”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Parvati Patil, a girl with dark skin. It then degenerated into an argument as the Gryffindors stood up for their injured housemate. And then, Malfoy happened to find Neville's remembrall (a gift from his grandmother).

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Harry, holding out a hand.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

“I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect—how about—up a tree?”

“I said hand it over!” Harry demanded, but Malfoy had climbed onto his broom and taken off. Clearly, the boy could fly, and wasn't exaggerating. Hovering above the treetops now, he smirked, and flung the remembrall hard as he could.

Harry simply held out a hand, and the remembrall instantly changed direction, to fly toward him. There were always other ways... and it looked like Malfoy was due for another lesson. Perhaps something a little more creative this time, since the little fear motivator seemed to have wore off.

They carried on with the rest of the lesson a short time later, with Malfoy clearly in a bit of a funk. Naturally, he put his feet back on the ground and dismounted his broom long before Madam Hooch returned, and so she was none the wiser. The boy was still in a nasty mood all considering, since Harry had once again made a fool out of him, this time in front of his friends.

Harry was a decent flier, easily taking to the broom and quickly understanding how to make it work. It was a release, to leave the ground behind, take to the air, and see things as only those with wings can.. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'I need to purchase my own. The thrill it would be, to see Skyrim from the air.'

* * *

_October 31, 2001_

Harry and his friends were clustered together at the Halloween feast held in the Great Hall. There were enormous Jack-o-lanterns lit with giant candles, real, live, bats, and enough candy and treats to make any boy sick for several days after. Hermione was on Harry's left, with Neville on his right, and beside Neville, was Ron, although he looked a little subdued, even with all the food. Harry was rather displeased with him at the moment, considering what had happened in class earlier in the day.

During Charms, they had been learning the levitation charm—Harry, of course, had been called on to demonstrate several times by the vertically-challenged Charms professor, since it was then well known he was more than adept at it. During the practical part of the lesson, Hermione kept correcting Ron on his wand-movements and annunciation—Ron, of course, did not appreciate it, and demanded, “Okay fine. You do it, if you're so clever.”

Hermione had simply flicked her wand at the feather. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

The feather lifted off the desk to hover about four feet above them. The praise from Professor Flitwick did nothing to bolster Ron's attitude, nor did Harry's.

As they headed toward their next class, Ron was still in a foul temper about being shown up.

“It's no wonder no one can stand her,” he said.

Ron suddenly found himself slammed up against the wall of the corridor.

“You ever say something like that again, I promise you it'll be the last thing you do,” Harry said, dangerously. “Hermione's one of my friends. So are you, but honestly my patience with your attitude is wearing thin.”

He let go of the boy.

“ _Grow up_.”

Harry turned only to find himself in a nearly crunching embrace.

“Air... Hermione.”

“Oh Harry... you... you didn't need to do that.” Her eyes were glistening with tears, but she smiled brightly.

“Yes I did. Ron needs to think before he opens his mouth. Now come on, we're gonna be late.”

“Yeah... right.” Ron looked nearly white from what had just happened.

Now, the four of them sat grouped together, enjoying the feast... Ron with perhaps a slight bit of fear concerning his friend now. Harry hadn't pushed him away, but really. His fits of jealousy were getting tiresome.

Harry was just unwrapping another chocolate frog, when Professor Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, looking all out of sorts. He reached the head table, panting, and gasped, “TROLL! In the dungeon—thought you ought to know.”

He then collapsed in a heap.

It was instant pandemonium. It took several loud bangs and the headmaster's magically amplified voice commanding, “SILENCE!!” before everything calmed down.

“Prefects,” he instructed, “Lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately. Teachers, with me, to the dungeons.”

The remainder of the evening was spent in the noisy Gryffindor common room, with food that had been collected and sent up with the house elves. During that time, a rather lively discussion picked up, centred around the turban-wearing Dark Arts Defence professor.

“Is it just me, or is Professor Quirrell really that incompetent?” Harry questioned loudly. “I mean really. Instead of quietly warning Professor Dumbledore, he announces it to a room full of young children. It was as if he knew it would cause a panic.”

“Does sound a bit suspicious,” said Hermione, “And you're right. We're not learning anything useful from him.”

“Same with us,” said Fred.

“Mention the word 'vampire' and he nearly faints,” George threw in.

“Don't know if it's the garlic or something else, but every class with him, I walk away with a stabbing headache,” Harry complained. “Honestly I'm just about fed up with his class, core subject or not.”

“You can't go about skiving off classes, Harry,” Percy scolded.

“Even if my health is at stake? He looks at me and it's like someone's driving a red hot fireplace poker into my forehead. Really. I'm just about fed up.”

“Harry's right. We aren't learning anything meaningful,” said Neville, “I only dread potions more than DADA.”

The rest of the evening passed with Harry distracted by this event. Clearly, no one else was learning from the ridiculous turban-wearing farce either. But what could he do? A letter needed to be sent then, perhaps in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, lots of things pulled from the first book here, adjusted to suit Harry's changed personality. Recognizable bits, of course, © respective authors.


	5. First Year, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry effectively quits attending DADA, choosing to study on his own; he is quickly joined by some of his classmates. A gift given to him at Christmas allows him to explore the castle undetected, inevitably leading him to the forbidden third floor corridor. Curiosity (and the possibility of treasure) has him explore the traps, only to be confused by what he finds at the end. And, he finds himself summoned to the headmaster's office at the end of term, where Harry begins to see glimpses of the professor's true face.

# 5: FIRST YEAR, PART 2

**November 1 – end of school year**

* * *

The following morning, he wrote a letter to Justin, requesting the Ministry of Education's Level One syllabus for Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had explained already the difficulties he was experiencing with the class, and what he now planned to do.

When he met Justin for his weekly tutoring session, he was given the course outline, as well as a list of reading material. Justin had spoken to his old Level One teacher from Sir Malcolm Davis, and he was more than willing to help out, considering he was somewhat aware of the lacklustre state of the course at Hogwarts. Harry would sit for the exam at the end of the year, but no way was he going to waste valuable time listening to the useless teacher blather on about everything but what he was supposed to be learning.

Initially, Harry spent the period in the library, but by the second week of November, he realized it was actually not a good choice for a study location, since he would also need to be able to practice. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a ferocious woman when it came to her domain, and practising spell-work there would get him thrown out in a real hurry.

So, he instead began using an disused classroom on the second floor. There had been rude words written on the blackboard the first time he used it—likely left there by Peeves, the resident poltergeist. He knew, however, to not bother Harry... ever. Apparently, the fear spell worked on poltergeists too, and so now, Harry was in a very exclusive club of only a few people having any sort of control over the menace.

With a few cleaning charms and a bit of repair work, the room was much better suited for his needs. He left a few desks set up, but the rest were pushed to the side of the room. That way he could spread out a number of books, much like he'd been doing in the library.

By the end of November, however, Harry was no longer alone. At first, it had been Hermione, as she realized Harry was right. No one was learning anything useful, and so she asked Harry if she could join him. Then Ron had followed, although likely because his two friends had done so.

To Harry, though, this was old hat. As he'd gotten older, he'd helped tutor new students at the college—adult students. They quickly learned his age was not a factor, and his spells were rather painful. So now, here at Hogwarts, it was no different. Though, he thought, it was baffling he was being forced to resort to such measures.

By the end of the term, he had been joined by several more housemates, as well as a few Hufflepuffs—the house which shared that period with them. Ten students dissatisfied with the Dark Arts Defence teacher. And, word was, they weren't the only ones. It was a source of general discontent in the school, for several reasons. For fifth and seventh years, for example, it was an important exam year for them—a review year. Harry felt bad, not being able to help them out. Just the fact he was a first-year made that very clear. Maybe more thought was needed on the matter.

* * *

And then, he was boarding the carriages that would take them back to the Hogwarts Express. Alice, Will, and Justin would be waiting for him in London, as had been the plan. Nearly three weeks away from the school, and Harry somewhat looked forward to it, along with a chat with those who were looking out for him. As nice as the school was, there were a lot of shortcomings, making him question the sanity of returning for a second year.

When the train arrived in London, he bid his friends good bye, and met up with his caretakers. Neither Mazhe nor Justin were there, but Harry knew he'd meet up with both sooner than later. A single port key took them back to the College of Winterhold, where indeed, Mazhe was waiting. And, while they embraced, Justin arrived only seconds later.

“So? How was it?” Mazhe asked, simply. His visits had been rare, him only being able to visit four times during the term.

“Half and half,” answered Harry, as they claimed seats in the common area. The area had changed more than a few times since Harry had arrived at the college over five years prior. Being a magical place of study, it was only to be expected. Conjuration, was, after all, pretty much an art form in itself.

“Dark Arts Defence is bad enough that about ten of us are studying independently at this point. Quirrell easily overshadows Binns as the worst teacher I've ever seen, and _he's_ a ghost. Potions is tolerable, although Snape doesn't like me a whole lot. At least I don't end up with a blinding headache after his class. I don't think I could take another year there. I'll finish up the year, and enrol here in the Commonwealth.”

“I'll see to it,” said Will, “ _Sir Malcolm Davis Institute_ would probably love to have you.”

“It would certainly give the British Ministry a black eye, that's for sure,” Alice agreed.

“Otherwise, painfully boring in many cases. I did make a few friends though. I mentioned Hermione, right? And Ron, although we butt heads occasionally. Still count him as a friend, he's got a wonderful family. And another boy, Neville. He's really shy, but I'm working on it.”

“We'll have to figure a way so the lot of you might get together over the summer,” said Will.

“That would be excellent. Hermione's a Muggle-born, but Ron and Neville are both purebloods. It would be fun to show them the, um, not-magical world.”

“Muggle-born. That's me too,” said Justin. “Mom and pop were a little shocked getting the letter, but it all made sense, right? I mean, I did accidentally blow up my sister's doll when she flushed my favourite G.I. Joe figure down the toilet when I was eight.” That got a laugh out of Harry. “I also had a tendency to blow light bulbs when I got upset.”

“As in explode?”

“No, they just burnt out prematurely.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry was still grinning at the visual.

“Well, I mean, there was that sabre cat that chased after us when you were... seven, wasn't it? About four years ago?” Mazhe recalled, trying but failing to cover a smirk.

Harry groaned loudly. “Gods... that was terrifying, Mazhe. Never mind the sickening feeling of being squeezed through a rubber tube.”

“Quite a feat, being able to Apparate at that age. It took me forever to get the concept,” said Justin, shaking his head.

“Bloody hell... what did that?!” Harry pointed to three long scars that now marked up Mazhe's face.

“Nasty encounter with a sabre cat. She got me good before I managed to kill her. I used the last of my healing potions, but they weren't enough. Got infected, so now they're permanent.”

“At least you're still whole. Gods, forgot how dangerous it can be here. Worst trouble I've got right now is some blond ponce who thinks he's better than everyone else. He's a little dense too. He quickly forgot about the fear spell I used on him.”

“Thing is, just get through the year, you won't have to worry about him.”

“Oh, I'm not. Really, he'll do something and I'll fix him for good. No worse than a bandit, in my books. They only respond to force.”

“I need not say be careful,” said Alice, seeming to be a little put out on Harry's view of the matter.

* * *

Christmas morning, Harry woke to a strange feeling, as if something heavy had sat on him. He blinked his eyes open, and rubbed the sand out of his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Mazhe?”

“Happy Christmas.” Mazhe did not celebrate Christmas, but from the five years knowing Harry, he knew they did. Harry had to giggle, realizing how his best friend had chosen to wake him.

“You're funny.”

“So are you.”

“Happy Christmas. Now if you'll let me get up...”

Mazhe obliged, and Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Threw on a jumper that was handy.

“Okay, first things first.” He summoned a box that was about the size of a shoebox. Another gesture from his hand, it was resized to that of his school trunk. From inside, he pulled out another box about the size of a shoebox, and passed it to his best friend.

“What is it?”

“Last summer when I was shopping for my school things, I stopped in the post office, and I saw these. It’s a special type of post box that delivers anything put in it to a twin, which I have. So we can keep in touch even if I’m not here.”

“It’s brilliant.”

“What I thought. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas. Guess it’s my turn then.”

Mazhe reached into his satchel, and pulled out a stack of books.

“You remember Farengar, the court wizard in Whiterun?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“He came across a few tomes which mention the dragon tongue. When he mentioned them, I thought of you.” Mazhe passed over the books. “Maybe next time you go delving into a Nordic ruin you can make more sense of the bone-walkers while they’re trying to kill you.”

“Oh, you’re funny,” Harry smirked.

He looked in the box, and pulled out one other item. It became a rather large bundle wrapped in non-descript packaging. Harry unwrapped it, and something silvery-grey fell onto the bed. It glittered in the dim light of the room.

“Wow, that's... unique,” said Mazhe, as Harry read the card, written in narrow, loopy writing:

 

_Your father left this in my possession before he died._  
It is time it was returned to you.  
Use it well.

_A very Merry Christmas to you._

 

Of course, the headmaster had called him up to his office briefly the evening before, and had given him the package. So why was this strange... cloak... left in the headmaster's possession? He picked it up, and it seemed to shimmer as the dim light of the room reflected off it. As he placed it about his shoulders, Mazhe let out a gasp.

“What?”

“Gods... your body... just look down, Harry.”

Harry did so, and couldn't help but let out a gasp of his own. Indeed, whatever was covered by the cloak became completely invisible.

“This is fantastic!” he exclaimed, pulling the hood up. “Certainly make exploring ruins a little safer,” came his disembodied voice.

“Can still hear you though. Who's it from?”

“The headmaster gave me the package just before I left,” Harry answered, as his head became visible, “But the card says it was my dad's. Bloody useful... though I have to wonder why the headmaster had it rather than my dad, when he needed it most.”

Justin joined them much later in the day, and Harry wasted no time showing off his new cloak.

“Damn, Harry. Those things are incredibly rare,” said Justin, “Who gave it to you?”

“Dumbledore had it, but his note said it belonged to my dad.”

“Likely a family heirloom then,” Justin guessed, “Likely in your family for generations.”

* * *

Far too soon for Harry's liking, it was time to return to Hogwarts. With final good byes to his friends and teachers, he returned to London by port key. It had been a good Christmas, and a good break over all, back amongst his close friends and familiar surroundings.

Hogwarts was nice, but he could feel the unwritten expectations surrounding him. It was the primary reason he wasn't exactly comfortable there. He'd fell in love with the College within a matter of weeks of being there. Hogwarts? It was quite likely he would never feel the same way about it.

His first night back in the dormitory was difficult, the extra noise level being only part of the problem. He missed the comfort of his friends being close by. Sure, Ron was becoming a friend, as was Neville, but they still barely knew each other. The others in the dormitory were acquaintances, and nothing more at this point. Back at the College, he called just about everyone in his dorm a friend, someone he could easily ask for help from. It was going to be a long six months.

* * *

In the coming days and weeks, Harry found himself using his invisibility cloak to explore the enormous castle after curfew, since he found it difficult to sleep. There were so many shortcuts, hidden passageways, traps, trick stairs, and other items to keep him well-entertained to the wee hours of the morning. A few times he ended up falling asleep in some odd places, being awakened by the rising noise in the castle as people began to stir.

Naturally, this eventually led him to the forbidden third-floor corridor, in the late hours of a day in mid-March. He'd began to climb the stairs, when they suddenly changed, and the arrival of Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, sort of forced Harry's hand. Unsure if the cat could see him under his cloak, he ventured into the corridor.

Harry was startled at what he found. At the far end, was a dog the size of which he'd never seen before. Worse still, it had not one, but _three_ heads! Collecting himself and recovering from the initial shock, Harry tried to remember what he'd read in _The Compendium Guide to Magical Bestiary_ , a large tome he'd purchased in Trevelyan. A _Hellhound_. That was what he was facing. It seemed to be asleep, but why was it here? Dumbledore was truly _mad_ , bringing something that dangerous into a school full of children!

Ah. Harry quickly spotted the likely reason. A trap door, partially covered by one of the animal's enormous paws. It was here to guard the trap door, and whatever was hidden behind it. To explore the mystery, then. That was the question.

Whatever was hidden down there was likely very dangerous, or very valuable. Dangerous, or valuable? Hmmm. That was the thousand-Septim question. Though... he did have his cloak... and the headmaster had all but dared someone to do it... “ _The third-floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a painful death_.” The man was truly barking if he believed that would actually keep people away. How many upper-year students had tried thus far, he wondered.

It was no trouble to get the beast's paw off the door. He simply gestured with a hand and gently levitated the paw out of the way. The animal let out three snorts from three different noses, but otherwise remained asleep. Wrapping the cloak tightly around him, he opened the trap door, and jumped through.

He landed on something soft, and was at first grateful for whatever it was, but that gave way to alarm, as whatever it was began to wrap long, black vines around him, clearly intending to suffocate him. The cloak had come off but was close by—Harry figured it wouldn't have mattered whether it stayed on or not... whatever it was—a plant, Harry guessed, it would have still known he was there.

Hoping his cloak was fireproof, Harry swiftly erected a flame cloak—a spell which immediately surrounded him in intense flames. The plant seemed to shriek as it was damaged by the flames, and Harry fell through to the floor below, his cloak following seconds later. The plant seemed to heal itself, and Harry then realized what it was: _Devil's Snare_. They hated sunlight, but hot flames would work too. He smirked to himself as the flame cloak died out, and he reclaimed his undamaged invisibility cloak.

There was only one way he could go, so he followed the passageway for the next few minutes. He at last arrived at a doorway leading into a room filled with, what seemed like birds. There was a door on the opposite side of the room, and three brooms in the middle.

It was then Harry noticed, they weren't birds fluttering overhead, but keys. Keys with wings. In other words, thousands of keys, one of which meant to unlock the door on the opposite side of the room.

Harry, however, wasn't in the mood to hunt for the proverbial needle in a haystack. The door was likely charmed against unlocking spells, but old-fashioned Muggle lock-picking, on the other hand? Harry reached into his pocket, and pulled out a lock pick.

Ten minutes and five broken picks later, the lock opened with a satisfying click, and Harry was through. The next chamber, however, proved to be slightly more challenging—or perhaps a _lot_ more challenging. The room became bathed in light, presenting a giant-sized chess board. He certainly played chess, but was no expert—that was Ron's territory, or Arch-mage Aren's. But neither of them were with him, so he was on his own.

Two hours and several close calls later, he boxed the black King into submission, and it threw its crown at his feet. Harry gave a slight bow, then stepped through the door and into another passageway. Here, Harry leaned against the wall a moment to catch his breath. Each of the traps so far had been put in place by teachers, he guessed. The dog—that had to be Hagrid's contribution, he guessed. Devil's Snare—that was Sprout's contribution. The keys? Definitely charms, Professor Flitwick's contribution. The chess board was McGonagall's addition, so that left Quirrell and Snape—and Dumbledore. At least three more traps to get through. There'd better be a substantial reward at the end, Harry muttered in his head.

Moving into the next chamber, Harry was again glad he had his invisibility cloak. For the second time that year, a troll was in the school. It stood in the corner of the chamber, muttering childishly to itself. Maybe it was lonely. Harry made sure to watch where he stepped as he crossed the room, having no interest in alerting the beast to his presence.

The next chamber was definitely Snape's contribution. A table sat in the middle of the room, with a piece of parchment on it, along with seven different-sized bottles. The instant Harry stepped into the room, purple flames shot up to cover the doorway, blocking the way out. The doorway on the other side also instantly burst into flames, those ones being black.

Black. Flames. That just _didn't_ happen.

Harry read the note, but wasn't in the mood to sort out which one was right. He applied a frost ward to himself, which protected him against any fire-based attacks he'd experienced, and trusted it would work in this instance as well. Taking a step of faith, he was more than pleased to find it worked exactly as expected, protecting him against the strange fire.

The last chamber held only one thing: an enormous mirror, erected in the middle of the room. Harry marched up to it, draping his invisibility cloak over his arm, furious. This entire escapade, for a _mirror_?! That was all there was to it. Albus Dumbledore was barking mad, Harry raged in his head, as he at last gazed into the mirror.

The image being reflected back to him wasn't what he expected. Sure, he was there, but... he looked... older. Mazhe was there, as was Justin, and a few others he didn't recognize. The older version of Harry smiled, and held up a red, shiny stone, then slid it in his pocket. Harry frowned, but reached down and felt his trousers... and was shocked to find a lump there. Reaching in, he pulled out the very object the mirror's reflection had just had. Reflection-Harry smiled back, and the image disappeared.

What? Harry's mind was spinning. What was this all about? The strange stone he held in his hand. He'd spent what seemed like the entire night running a gauntlet of traps... for a _stone_? Some part of him wanted to commit murder. And now, it looked like another hour or so getting back up. Good thing it was a Sunday.

* * *

It was the beginning of April before there came any indication the teaching staff knew about the traps being breached. One morning the staff all looked out of sorts at breakfast, and Dumbledore in particular looked troubled—he kept casting worried glanced toward Harry. Quirrell, meanwhile, looked pissed, very out-of-character for him, considering the usually meek, nervous teacher he was. However, no one approached Harry, and so he was certain they didn't know he'd been the one to do the deed.

A week later, Harry once again visited the third-floor corridor, and no surprise, found the hell hound had been removed. The teachers definitely knew, then. They would still have difficulty pinning the crime on him, however, since the stone was no longer in his possession—at least not there at Hogwarts. He'd sent it to Mazhe.

Barring that single event, things were quiet over the spring term, only being punctuated by the typical events expected to crop up during a school year. Harry continued to study with a group of friends during Dark Arts Defence, rather than waste their time with an incompetent teacher. He kept in frequent contact with Mazhe, as well as a few others back in Skyrim. It meant he could somewhat keep up with his education back at the college.

The post box Harry had given Mazhe was getting a substantial workout. He'd debated about giving one to Justin as well, but he was already seeing him on a weekly basis as it was, so he'd decided it wasn't necessary. A letter being sent to the College tended to take much longer. It only made sense, given it was not one, but essentially two international connections.

* * *

Exams came and went, and before Harry realized it, they were all seated in the Great Hall, enjoying the Leaving Feast. Tomorrow, everyone would be back on the train, heading back to London for summer holidays. As the conversation flowed freely (and Ron stuffed his face, earning constant glares and frowns from Hermione), Harry reflected on the past year.

It wasn't the greatest. The classes had been TAME in comparison with what he'd been learning and doing at the College. A number of teachers, sure, he liked them enough, but everything seemed to pass at a snail's pace. It was like being forced to crawl again after having learned to run.

Sure, he had made a few friends—there had been a few discussions about meeting up over the summer for a time, and Harry was all for it. A few friends, however, wasn't really enough to keep him at Hogwarts for another year. The place was just not in his comfort zone. Beside the point, he could still keep in contact with them even if he attended school elsewhere. He would purchase another miniature post box and leave it with Hermione, and the group would be able to stay in touch, even if he returned to Skyrim.

The following morning, the school was in a complete uproar. A number of Aurors were seen roaming the halls, and rumours were flying fast and furious. Harry, of course, became rather nervous, thinking that perhaps they had somehow discovered he had broken through all the traps in the third floor corridor. He simply kept his head down as he ate breakfast in the Great Hall, knowing it best to not draw attention to himself. That was a sure way to get busted.

Professor McGonagall tapped a glass with a spoon, and the hall fell quiet. Professor Dumbledore was already standing at the lectern.

“Forgive the interruption of your breakfast, but I'm afraid I must trouble you all with a bit of unfortunate news. Early this morning, Professor Quirrell was found deceased in his chambers. At this time we consider his death to be accidental in nature, but I must ask anyone who may have been in the company of the late professor, please see either myself or Professor McGonagall, so the we may ascertain his movements yesterday evening.”

Professor Dumbledore retook his seat.

“Good riddance,” Harry muttered, between bites of his breakfast, “Maybe you guys will have a better professor next year.”

“You're really going to school elsewhere next year?” came Seamus' question.

“Sorry guys. I don't fit here. I'm not comfortable here, not with... well... that. Poor teachers, the spotlight—I know I'm famous, but people don't seem to get it. I didn't do anything. It was my mother who did the brave and noble thing, not me.

“My guardians are already preparing the paperwork for me to attend school in the Commonwealth. But I promise I'll keep in touch. It's one thing I did like about coming to Hogwarts... I did make a few new friends. And this summer I want you guys to come visit me for a bit.”

“Only if you come visit the Burrow,” said Ron, “Mum would love to have you.”

“That would be excellent.”

“Would we be able to see... this college you keep talking about?” asked Hermione.

“I dunno, maybe. The government really tries to limit the number of people who can visit there. I think there's maybe ten or fifteen people who have access. But I'll talk to my, uh, guardians about it. I think it would be really great if we could get together sometime during the summer. If there's one thing I won't forget about coming here, it's meeting all you guys.”

“Oh Harry...” Hermione gave him a half-hug.

As Harry finished and was standing, he found Professor McGonagall behind them.

“Potter. Professor Dumbledore wishes to have a word with you in his office right away.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“See you on the train, Harry,” said Ron, as Harry got up to follow the deputy headmistress out of the hall.

“Any idea on what he needs to speak to me about?” Harry asked, tyring to gauge whether he was in trouble or not.

“I honestly have no idea. Though he will likely be brief, given the dark circumstances of this morning.”

“I didn't care for him, professor, but...” Harry thought for a moment, as they travelled up the staircase to the second floor. “May he find peace in his next life.”

“Indeed.”

They arrived at the stone gargoyle, and it seemed to spring to life at once, revealing the winding staircase leading up to the headmaster's office.

“Go on up, Potter. He's waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Harry climbed the staircase, leaving Professor McGonagall behind. He reached the top of the stairs, and was about to knock on the large oak door leading into the office, when--

“Come in, Harry.”

Harry pushed the door open, and entered the office proper. The headmaster was seated behind his desk, watching him thoughtfully.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Indeed, I did, my boy. Come have a seat.” Professor Dumbledore indicated the conjured seat in front of his desk. Harry sat down.

“And how did you find your first year here at Hogwarts?”

“It was less than inspiring, Professor. No offence intended toward the school itself, but... I just felt held back. The things covered here, a lot of it I'm already able to do, and have been since I was eight. Well... maybe not exactly in the same manner, but... most of the stuff I covered this year, I already either knew how to do it, or knew a way to accomplish the same end—if you get my meaning.”

“I believe I do. Indeed, those first steps do seem to be rather tedious, rather slow... but they are building blocks which lead to greater, deeper, more difficult challenges the further along you go. You surely understand this, Harry.”

“Of course. But like I said, a good part of the year felt somewhat like a review for me. I've made a few good friends, and I do love being in the castle, but... it's just... honestly sir, I think I'll do better back in the Commonwealth—or back at the College. The mages there have been keeping me busy with assignments over the past term, so I won't be too far behind over the summer.”

“Ah. Getting to the main reason I asked to speak with you,” said Dumbledore, getting serious. “Regretfully, you must be placed back with your relatives.”

“Back with those monsters?” Harry let out a snort. “I've wondered since I arrived here, whether you might actually be off your nut. I think that just about proves it.”

“Now now, my boy, you must understand--”

“Understand WHAT headmaster?” Harry asked, dangerously. “Remember what I said at the beginning of the year? That I would raise a cup to their graves? If I see them again, I may very well put them IN their graves. Is that any way unclear?”

“Harry, it is for your safety. As much as you may enjoy the comforts and the friendships you have formed outside of England, there are dangers you have yet to comprehend.”

Harry could feel a strange prickling sensation about the head, and frowned. The taste of foreign magic.

“Professor, whatever you're trying to do to me, stop. It's your only warning.”

Professor Dumbledore nearly lost his composure. The mild compulsion charm would normally have worked on anyone else. Particularly a first-year student, such as Harry was. Of course, he realized, Harry was by no means an ordinary student. But for him to actually notice magic being cast on him? Merlin, this boy was going to be a force to be reckoned with when he came of age. If only he could regain control of him. The crux of the matter.

“I encountered a few nasty mages when I was nine. They tried subjugating me in a similar manner, tried to get me to murder my best friend. Needless to say none of them are still among the living. Make no mistake, headmaster, I will KILL to protect my friends, nearly twelve-years-old or not.”

“How many people have you killed, Harry?”

“I stopped counting at thirty. People just see a little boy, see—and don't get the idea I've grown up evil.”

Harry could see the alarm on Professor Dumbledore's face.

“Gods, there would be more than a few people who would have my head should I even dream of travelling that path. But sometimes, it's me or them. And in that case, I'm not gonna play nice. Malfoy was lucky back in Hearthfire. I could have done far worse than I did... and honestly, I think eventually I'll be forced to. Not because of my choices, but because of his. He's a danger, sir. Not now, but down the road.”

“Harry, I do still truly worry. The path to darkness is filled with honest intentions. I only wish to do what is best. It is for the greater good.” Dumbledore pushed a hand toward the boy. “ _OBLIV_ —”

KAWHACK! The shard of ice exploded from Harry's hand to impact with Dumbledore's, piercing straight through it. The professor was absolutely dumbstruck, staring at the frosty projectile now embedded in his hand. Fawkes let out an indignant squawk, and fluttered over to heal the nasty injury.

“Don't make me resort to something more painful, professor. I will not be returning to the Dursleys, nor will I be returning to Hogwarts in Hearthfire—September, I mean. Your actions here have all but cemented my decision.”

Harry rose from his seat, and strode to the door. He wrenched it open, then glanced back at the still shocked headmaster. “One last thing, headmaster. _Aav dilon, dukaan kro_!(1)” And with that, he was gone back down the staircase.

Dumbledore just sat there, staring at his now mended hand. It had been rather painful, but the pain was only a fraction of the reason behind his shock. The boy... an eleven year old boy, had attacked him wandlessly. This further proved his thought. The boy would be a powerful wizard when he came of age.

Unfortunately, he could become just as much of a threat as Voldemort was. That was the issue. Outside of Dumbledore's sphere of influence, he was surrounded by powerful mages, learning powerful spells, learning to be his own man, not susceptible to outside influence.

His thoughts turned to the unasked second question he had for the boy. What had become of the Philosopher's Stone? Naturally, Professor Dumbledore knew the boy had taken it. So what was Harry planning to do with it? Sure, the boy had done as he had hoped he would, but alone? With zero help from his friends? The boy was far too independent for the headmaster's taste. Something had to be done before Harry was lost forever.

* * *

The train ride home was uneventful, although Malfoy certainly tried to make an entrance. A strong locking charm put on the compartment door prevented it. Harry kept most of that morning's meeting with Professor Dumbledore private, not wanting his friends to know exactly what he was capable of at this point. He knew Hermione wouldn't appreciate the idea he'd attacked a teacher—specifically the headmaster, after all, and honestly, it wasn't their business what sort of disagreement they were having at this point.

Instead, they talked amongst themselves, and made plans for the upcoming summer. It was likely that Harry wouldn't be available until the second week in August, since he would be catching up on some of his assignments back at the college. Privately, Harry planned to put as much distance between him and Dumbledore as he could. The man had tried to do something to his head, and it made him very unsettled. He would be seeking advice on the matter from his guardians and the social workers.

As the train finally emptied at King's Cross station, Harry was overjoyed to find Alice, Will, and Justin waiting for him.

“All set, Harry?” Will asked.

“Just before we go. My new friends from Hogwarts. This is Ron, Hermione, Neville, Fred, and George,” Harry introduced. “Guys. Alice and Will, they're, um, my social workers.”

Both Alice and Will gave a nod.

“And of course you guys have seen Justin a few times.” He glanced at Will. “Mazhe couldn't make it?”

“He was delayed in Whiterun,” Justin answered.

“Oh. Well—“

“We're just about to head out for dinner. If any of you would like to join us, you're all quite welcome,” said Alice.

“Thanks, but, uh, mum's just over there,” said George, pointing to a rather plump lady and another group of red-heads.

“Maybe next time though. You'll try and come visit though, right Harry?” Ron asked.

“I'll try to. Your house sounds wicked. But it really depends, see. If I don't, you all have a great summer.”

“Likewise. Bye Harry!” And with that, the three red-heads were off to meet up with their mother.

“I'll ask my mum when we get outside the barrier,” said Hermione.

“Likewise,” said Neville, sadly, “But gran probably wants to get home.”

On the other side of the barrier, Harry sighed inwardly. Even five years did not diminish his memory of the Dursleys. And there they were, the disgruntled lot they were, likely ordered there to pick him up.

“Well, boy, hurry up, we haven't got all day,” said Vernon, gruffly.

“You wasted your time. I don't know what the headmaster told you, but I will never live in your care as long as I'm breathing. Now if you value your life, you'll get your arse back in that car of yours, get back on the motorway, drive yourselves back to Little Whinging, and forget I ever existed.”

“How dare—“

“Mr. Dursley, you clearly don't remember us visiting your residence nearly six years ago, do you?” asked Alice. “I do have to wonder, exactly how you are walking around free, when you should still be serving a rather lengthy prison sentence.”

“Perhaps they may need to see the inside of a Commonwealth prison,” said Will, “Something most definitely off about this.”

“Either way, piss off,” said Harry, nastily, “You lot are not worth getting upset over.”

Vernon gave the group a death-glare, and hurried back into his car. Harry was more than happy to leave the nasty family behind.

“That was your relatives? Sorry lot, I think,” said Neville.

“Horrible people. They treated me terribly, and quite honestly, I'd hoped I'd never see them again.”

“If they were sent to prison, who let them out?” Hermione asked.

“That's a question we'll be asking ourselves,” said Will, “We have a good number of contacts in the Crown Prosecution Service, we'll get to the bottom of it either way.”

“I don't know if that will make a difference,” said Harry, “I'll explain once we're someplace more private.”

“Oh—there's gran,” said Neville, and led the group over to a rather severe woman. It was the same lady Harry had seen on the platform back in September. Neville was quick to introduce his new friends.

“Gran, this is Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger... they're in my year. Or at least, Harry was.”

“Well. Mr. Potter, wonderful to meet you. Augusta Longbottom.”

“An honour, my lady,” said Harry, with an incline of the head. The woman gave off an aura of power, someone to be respected.

“If you are all finished.” Mrs. Longbottom was ready to escort her grandson away.

“Actually, Mrs. Longbottom, we were about to go for a bit of dinner, and Neville's welcome to come along,” said Will.

“We'll make sure he gets home,” said Alice.

“I see. I don't see any harm. Very well. No later than nightfall. Have him travel by floo powder.”

“Not a problem, ma'am,” said Will.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger on the other hand, insisted they join the group, as they headed out into Muggle London. It took them a while to settle on a place, but in the end they chose something moderate in price, with stuff appropriate for all ages.

“Really wish you were coming back to Hogwarts next year, Harry,” said Hermione, as the dishes were cleared away.

“I just can't,” answered Harry, sadly, “I'm eleven going on fourteen. That's how I feel. And Professor Dumbledore... I don't trust him. I... he tried to do something to me in his office this morning. I don't know what it was, but... it probably wasn't anything good for my health. He's taken an unhealthy interest in my business.”

He gave Hermione a smile.

“Besides. You and Ron get along pretty well now. Don't let him walk all over you, that's all you have to remember. Same for you, Neville. We were sorted into Gryffindor for a reason.”

“I know... but it's hard.”

“Of course it's hard. Standing up to your enemies is one thing, but... standing up to your friends is harder... am I right?” said Justin.

“He'll respect you for it in the long run.”

“You mean like what happened on Halloween,” Neville remembered.

“Exactly. Ron was being a jerk and I called him on it. We're still good friends, but he knows I won't put up with rubbish like that.”

“And he did apologize for it,” said Hermione.

“Exactly. So don't let him get away with things like that. And really. That goes for anything else. Hermione, you had the best grades in our year. You're a bright witch, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

That got a bright smile out of the young witch, and brighter smiles from her parents.

All too soon, it was time for them to go their separate ways. Hermione and her parents took the tube back to King's Cross where the car had been parked, while the rest of the group took Neville with them back to Erwin where he was shown to a public floo.

“So this is it then. See you maybe in Diagon Alley, then?” asked Neville, hopefully.

“We'll try and hook up later in the summer. I'd really like to get together with all of you again for an afternoon or something, right?”

“I'd like that. But I'll miss you next year, Harry.”

“I'll write to all of you, I promise.”

With that, Neville activated the floo, and was gone.

“Hope they're gonna be okay without me. Neville looked lost, I think. Exactly what I felt like when I got on the train last Hearthfire.”

“Thing is, he won't be alone, right?” Justin pointed out, “All of you are clearly friends, by the way the conversation was moving earlier.”

“I just... sometimes I felt like the glue, you know what I mean? Not being arrogant, but... I dunno... best I can do is keep in touch with them.”

“All you can do,” said Justin, “Let's get back to the college.”

“Agreed. I have something I have to tell you guys.”

“Something happened?” Alice asked. That only got a nod out of the boy. She pulled out a tennis ball from her hand bag, and moments later they were off with the familiar hook about the naval.

Minutes later, they were sequestered in the room that was still set up as a classroom in the Hall of Attainment.

“What happened?” Justin asked, as soon as they were settled.

“I'll need a pensieve to show more detail, but... it felt like a prickly feeling about the head. I'd experienced something like that a few years ago, facing a few mages. They were trying to get me to attack Mazhe.”

“The Imperius curse,” said Will.

“No. He was doing it silently and wandlessly.”

“Compulsion charm then. On a student? He wouldn't dare.”

“How about something that starts with obliv...”

“He did NOT!” Justin, Will, and Alice were all outraged.

“What does it do?”

“Obliviate. Memory tampering. You're absolutely sure he started to use that spell?”

“I swear it.”

“Will, d'you mind going back to the office and making a floo call to the ministry? I think we may need some input from the Ministry of Justice.”

Will stood up, and activated a port key, vanishing on the spot.

“So he tried to erase my memory?”

“Yes. At least part of it. The charm is far-reaching, he could have erased years worth of your memories and knowledge,” said Alice, gravely.

“Looks like I have some reading to do.”

“This is Albus Dumbledore we're talking about though,” said Justin, “Not likely the Commonwealth can do a whole lot against him.”

“We can certainly lodge a complaint. We may not be a member of the ICW, but they will definitely not appreciate one of their high-ranking representatives misbehaving that way. We'll likely need to draw a pensieve memory for proof.”

“Fine with me. Honestly, with that action, he became the number one reason I don't wish to return to Hogwarts. If you guys could see to the paperwork, I'll plan on attending the academy in the Commonwealth.”

“It shouldn't take long. I've been sharing your grades with my former teachers back at Sir Malcolm Davis... they'll likely be your teachers—or at least some of them, next year,” said Justin.

“Not to mention, we do have the entire summer to work out the arrangements.”

Just then, a silvery shape took form in front of them. It looked to be some sort of dog, the breed not easily made out.

“ _Aurors will take Harry's statement in the morning. Alice, meet me back at the office,_ ” it spoke.

“We'll need to get you set up to take your grade six exams as it is,” Justin noted.

“We'll do that tomorrow as well, then.”

“It's hard to believe you'll be starting grade seven next year, Harry.”

“Grade seven, and level two magic. I can't believe it either, Justin,” said Alice, “Time's gone by quickly.”

Harry simply shook his head. “Don't I know it. Just as long as I don't have to deal with more incompetent teachers, and meddlesome headmasters.”

“Naw, nothing to worry about at Sir Malcolm Davis. Teachers there have to prove their credentials first. And there's no headmaster. They have what's called a principal. But she fills a similar role, if that makes sense,” Justin explained, “And you don't stay at the school twenty-four-seven. You go home at the end of the day.”

“I like that thought. I missed my bed here.”

“It's something else we're looking into. If the Arch-mage is willing, we'll be installing a floo connection here. It'll make travel much more convenient,” said Alice. A pen was busily scratching out notes without intervention on a plain notepad. “Now, I guess the next question is, is there anything you need? Or better, is there anything we can be doing for you?”

“I need a bit of a break from things, I guess. I'm taking a week off... I'd like to do something fun, y'know, something like that... Hermione kept talking about going to see movies last summer...”

“Good grief, you've never been to a movie theatre... I'm sorry, Harry,” Alice apologized.

“Well, y'know what would be cool. For a great outing... we do have the theatre in San Francisco. The one the government bought nearly fifty years ago,” Justin suggested, “What do they use it for now anyway?”

“Arcane Sciences has an outpost laboratory deep underground. The building serves as the above-ground access,” said Alice, “Though it's been a couple of years since we've actively used it.”

“Maybe Mazhe might want to come as well.”

“Absolutely. Why don't you send an owl to your friends, and see who might want to come? Meanwhile, we'll work on this end, there'll likely be a group of other boys and girls joining us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go, Harry's first year at Hogwarts over and done. Realize, Harry may seem much more mature than an 11-year-old, but again, I point out, he's been raised in a place that demands maturity. Behaving like an immature brat is a sure way to end up dead. So Harry's grown up faster than he might have anywhere else. He's also learning things much older students are messing about with. The beginner stuff is old hat, as Dumbledore has found out, unfortunately. Naturally, this has him freaking out, thinking Harry's going dark. That mentality will come into play on numerous occasions as Harry grows up—not that Harry will let him get away with it.  
> As to Harry's friends, he hasn't formed as close a relationship with them as in canon, since his personality is a little different. Still, he's made some life-long friends out of Ron and Hermione, as well as Neville. Even out of Hogwarts, they'll remain in regular contact.  
> (1) _Aav dilon, dukaan kro_ \- “Join [the] dead, dishonour[ed] sorcerer”. “ _Aav dilon_ ” is a common phrase used by Draugr. The official Skyrim game guide was right useful in coming up with the rest.


	6. Second Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore finds a way to force Harry back to Hogwarts for another year; a shopping trip to Diagon Alley has Harry vowing to never return, though events which occur there result in a different outcome to his school year... and Harry gains a new friend out of the deal.

# 6: SECOND YEAR

**July 2002 – June 2003**

* * *

_Early July, 2002  
Meeting of the Wizengamot, British Ministry of Magic_

“Are you sure this is the right way to handle the situation, Albus?” Madam Longbottom questioned from her seat, with a frown, “Last thing we need is to anger the Commonwealth further than they already are.”

“Indeed,” came another wizard's agreement from the opposite side of the chamber, “We've had over ten years of peace, all thanks to the one person you wish to ham-string with this piece of legislation. If the boy is happy where he is, then so be it.”

“None of you understand the gravity of the situation. It is imperative that Mr. Potter complete his magical education here in Magical Britain, not abroad, outside of the purview of the Ministry.”

“Come now, Albus,” spoke Madam Bones, suspiciously, “I'm sure there are far more details than you are letting on. What difference does it make that he completes his magical education elsewhere? He saved us all eleven years ago, let us be thankful and move on.”

“Indeed, there are details beyond what I have revealed, details that are best kept out of the public forum, lest those details reach the wrong ears. However, I will again point out, my largest concern thus far is the type of education young Mr. Potter is receiving. Being able to lash out at me magically without the use of a wand is disconcerting enough. He claims to have already killed numerous individuals—the circumstances I was unable to determine—but this, my friends, is the worry. That young Harry may follow in the footsteps of Voldemort.”

He waited several moments for the chamber to regain its decorum.

“Harry is still at the age where we might sway him back to the light path, and prevent our world from facing yet another Dark Lord.”

“I think we've heard enough. Let us put it to a vote, then...”

* * *

_9 July, 2002 (9 Sun's Height, 4E197)  
Fox Theatre, San Francisco_

Originally constructed in 1929, San Francisco's Fox Theatre was one of five massive theatres built by William Fox to showcase his movies. It was to be 'the last word' in movie palaces, and in many ways, it was. Events ranging from motion pictures to vaudeville to Broadway-style productions graced its stage, until the building was closed in February of 1963. The building's owners claimed it was no longer profitable.

A number of organizations ran spirited campaigns to preserve the building, but it was soon discovered the effort was unnecessary, when it was announced at the end of that month the building and its contents had been purchased by _Valicor International_. Not much was known about the company, other than the fact that the company had purchased several other unwanted structures in the U.S. and Canada. Those places had underwent extensive restoration and preservation.

The building indeed underwent an extensive clean up and restoration, to reopen in 1965, although with fewer events. Sure, the place was most certainly capable of showing motion pictures, but the decline in movie-going public was one of the reasons the place had closed in the first place. Instead, the focus turned to conventions and the occasional live stage show. Late night organ concerts continued, at least for a while, though that too came to an end, as the entertainment desires of the public changed with the times.

The 70's and 80's saw the Fox Theatre's doors closed more than they were open, sometimes remaining shuttered for months at a time, its marquee empty. And still, that same marquee and the famous 'Fox' sign would be lit at night, though welcoming the ghosts of the ageing movie house's past. To someone passing it on the street, the building looked alive—even without the crowds queueing up outside, such as was the case during its heyday.

There were certainly many who voiced opposition to the monstrosity, the 'virtually abandoned dinosaur' which stood on a triangle of land bordered by Market St, Hayes St., and Polk St. Perhaps it was time the city reclaim the land, demolish the structure, and replace it with something more useful.

The truth of the matter? Valicor International was the Commonwealth's face in the non-magical world. Those places owned by the corporation? All of them had vast importance to the Commonwealth, for one single reason: a grand disguise. See, the Commonwealth of Valicadia held numerous hidden outlets, outposts, and larger population centres all over the globe. In this case, a deep-seated research lab that had been erected in 1925, by the Arcane Sciences Department, with the intent to study the geology of the area. Up to 1963, there was no proper connection with the surface—all personnel had to either use port keys, or the floo network to gain access.

By April of 1963, the basement of the theatre had been completely converted and re-adapted for use, by the Ministry of Science and Technology's Arcane Sciences Division. It then became possible to bring sensitive equipment in and out of the facility without risking magical damage—after all, there were some pieces of equipment that could not be tampered with magically. That allowed for a massive expansion of the facility in the following decade. It rapidly became one of the primary research centres in the Commonwealth, far surpassing the original, designed purpose.

Back to the point of the story, it was just after noon, when Harry, Mazhe, and Justin all arrived by floo powder. A grand fireplace had been installed along the east wall of the lobby—the magical construction firm hired to do the work made it look like it had always been there, and the chimney had been well disguised in the structure that was already there.

“Gods... this is a theatre? Hermione said—“ Harry was confused.

“Those boxes they call cinemas,” Justin laughed, “Nothing like this one. Only a few places like this exist now.”

“I'm still not sure what you mean by 'movie' exactly,” said Mazhe, “But this place... it's beautiful.”

“You still haven't seen Hogwarts yet... but this comes close.”

“This is just the lobby. Wait 'till you see the auditorium itself.”

Indeed, the room was magnificent, with gold-leaf trim—opulent was the only description appropriate. 'The Dursleys' house would easily fit in the lobby—probably the neighbours' too, come to think of it,' Harry thought, as he looked around. To his left, doors led out to an outer lobby of sorts, and out to the street. Across the room, he could see a balcony and an upper mezzanine. Doors stood open, giving a glimpse into the auditorium itself... and from his standpoint, the stage looked really small. To his right, an equally opulent staircase led up to the mezzanine.

“The theatre's fairly busy these days, but not like it was before the Commonwealth bought it... special events, that type of thing. Still surprised you've never been to a movie, Harry,” said Justin, shaking his head.

Just then, the fireplace roared a brilliant green, and Hermione stepped out of it with her parents.

“Miss Granger, good to see you again,” said Justin.

“Err... likewise, Mr. Fraser.”

“It's Justin. You're making me feel old.”

“But you are old,” Mazhe teased, sticking his tongue out.

“Real mature, Mazhe.”

“Guys...” Harry shook his head, but grinned. “Hermione, glad you could make it.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” said Mr. Granger, “It's been a while since we were to the theatre.”

“It'll be the first in the States though,” said Mrs. Granger, “Though I do have to wonder, why would your government spend money on such a place?”

“It's serving double purpose, as an entrance to one of our research facilities. And... you know that you can't tell anyone about what's actually going on in here,” said Justin, “It's above and beyond the Statute of Secrecy. It's why you had to sign a paper before they let you come.”

“Of course. It's only understandable. Though I do understand, you have full inclusion of non-magical people in your culture,” said Mrs. Granger.

“Since the Commonwealth was founded, yeah—“

The fireplace roared to life once again, and this time a group of familiar faces stepped out in rapid succession: the Weasleys.

“Harry! Good to see 'ya, mate.”

“Good to see you too, Ron.”

“Mr. Potter... good to at last meet,” said Mr. Weasley, as they shook hands.

“Likewise. Err... Mrs. Weasley, thanks for the jumper at Christmas.”

“Call me Molly, dear. And it was no trouble.” She turned and gave a pair of identical twins a glare. “No nonsense. I mean it.”

“Right. Just waiting for—“ Justin did not finish, as the fireplace again flared, this time expelling Neville and his grandmother. That resulted in even more rapid introductions.

Naturally, the purely magical folks had lots of questions, being in what had been a purely non-magical building. However, it could easily be passed off as an expensive manor house, with the decorations.

Justin led the expanded group up the stairs, then to another stairwell. That led to the upper balcony seating, where they found a number of families already seated. Harry wasn't the only one trying to take everything in; the auditorium was truly enormous.

“What, you thought we'd be the only ones here?” Justin grinned, “I think Will and Alice were quite busy. Come on, we're sitting down at the front.”

The seats themselves were plush, and Harry could immediately feel the extra cushioning charm at work as he sat down. Though the non-magical building had been designed to be comfortable during long sittings, magic simply made it better. Of course, such things were done very carefully, considering the building was frequently open to the outside world.

They'd no sooner gotten seated, when music seemed to erupt from everywhere.

“Of course, Rossini,” said Justin. At Harry's blank look, he said, “Crap, keep forgetting. Most non-magical people—or those non-magically raised recognize this. The _William Tell Overture_ , or part of it—the part that's playing—also known as the 'Lone Ranger' theme.”

“Lone Ranger?”

“An old television show.”

“Oh. The Dursleys never let me watch the telly.”

“Oh. Look there!” Neville was pointing at a spot on the stage, which had opened up, and something was rising out of it. An enormous console, and someone was working at it—playing it, Harry realized.

“This music... it's fantastic,” Mazhe commented.

“When the movie's over, any chance for us to see that up close?” Harry wondered.

“More than easily done, I think.”

“Alice,” Harry greeted. She was sitting behind him.

“We've planned a few outings for you the next few days, it's all about having fun.”

“That would be excellent.”

The music went on for about a half-hour, before the console again descended into the floor, to applause from the audience. Then, the lights dimmed, and the movie began. Will and Alice had spent more than a few hours debating what movie to play, but settled on Disney's “ _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea”_. It was suitable for all ages, and they figured those who had been raised exclusively in the magical world would enjoy it just as much as those who weren't.

When the movie finished, and the other groups heading back out to the lobby, Harry and his friends were led down to the stage area, where the organ's console had once again been raised out of its pit. While the kids all had a close look at it, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, along with the other adults, took the chance to have a chat with Alice and Will.

“Harry actually grew up here, in the Commonwealth?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“No,” Will answered, “He's been staying at a rather unique College in a distant place. For now we aren't revealing further details, only that their magic is quite different than ours—though very compatible.”

“And he's been learning about magic early, then,” Mr. Weasley assumed, to which Alice gave a nod.

“Introduced to it right from the beginning, but really only started actually casting it when he was eight. Lots of theory and so on,” Will answered.

“Around children his own age?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“The only weak spot, and one of the reasons we gave Harry a gentle nudge toward attending Hogwarts,” said Alice.

“From what Neville has told me, Mr. Potter is very mature for his age. Now it somewhat makes sense,” said Madam Longbottom.

“Spending five years at a college where maturity is expected, it would have that effect,” said Mr. Granger, “Our daughter is constantly talking about him.”

“And we're more than happy to hear he's formed some good friendships, even if he doesn't desire to return to Hogwarts in the fall,” said Will.

“There's something you should be aware of, Mr. Jarvis,” said Madam Longbottom, reaching into her handbag, “Our Wizengamot recently passed legislation which prohibits voluntary withdrawals and transfers—it's retroactive to last July. An official notice will be sent to Harry within the next week or so.”

She passed over a folded, sealed parchment.

“More than a few of us were displeased with this rather... draconian piece of legislation. It borders on coercion.”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked furious.

“Had we known...”

“Likewise,” said Alice, “We'll certainly be speaking with a couple of I.C.W. Nations we're friendly with.”

“Thing you must understand, Albus has a lot of pull within the Wizengamot and the international body,” said Madam Longbottom, “For the most part his actions are toward the greater good, but sometimes... he does forget some actions do hurt individual interests, this being a great example.”

“That may be a reason, but it's most definitely not an acceptable excuse. If and when this legislation is rescinded, your children would be most certainly welcome to attend Sir Malcolm Davis, or any other school within the Commonwealth, we can be more than accommodating.”

“I'll certainly keep that in mind, Miss Wheeler,” said Madam Longbottom, looking rather sour, “If simply to make a point. Though I do wonder, what sort of standard do schools here adhere to?”

“Instructors are all required to have proper credentials. A fine example would be History of Magic—though here it's just History—the instructor would be required to have appropriate knowledge on the subject, both magical and non-magical. Preferably, they would have had at least an 'E' in the magical portion, with a college major in history to match. Credentials would be double-checked,” Alice explained.

“Additionally,” Will continued, “Someone who wishes to become a teacher would have to prove they're competent in the classroom—prove they can actually teach the subject. As good as Severus Snape is, he shouldn't be teaching. He lacks the patience, exercises bias, and by many accounts, downright bullies students. Here, he would've been shown the door. He lacks the social graces to handle students in the classroom, it's that simple.

“We don't boast about being 'the best in the world' or any sort of nonsense. Students who graduate our school system are more than sufficient proof, I think. I mean, Mr. Fraser completed his Bachelor of Science not long ago, as well as his Charms mastery. Now, in between helping with Harry's education, he's working on a research Doctorate. Can any of you show me a witch or wizard from England who has a similar resume?”

“What does a Doctorate mean, Mr. Jarvis?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“It can mean many things, Mr. Weasley,” answered Mr. Granger, “In the case of Mr. Fraser, I suspect he's doing a long-term research project, likely beginning with a paper and so on. Working through a college or university, it will most likely result in the granting of a Doctorate. Most people taking this route, it becomes a long-term project, possibly life-term. A medical Doctorate, on the other hand, is a little closer to home, at least for my wife and I. A medical Doctorate is about medicine, or in our case, dentistry.”

“Fascinating,” said Mr. Weasley, though he looked even more confused than he'd been before. The group at this point had settled back into seats in the front row, while the kids continued to be entertained by the organist.

“I've been wanting to ask... since our daughter has mentioned it... has Harry been getting extra lessons while he's at Hogwarts?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“Yes. Mr. Fraser met with Harry every Tuesday. Harry was given assignments to complete, and the session was a chance for him to get help with anything he didn't understand, and so on. The education system here is quite different,” Alice explained, “The magical courses are only a part of it, in addition to regular subjects, such as math, English, and so on. As far as the Commonwealth is concerned, Harry is going into grade seven in September.”

“Good grief, if only we'd known,” said Mr. Granger, sounding frustrated, “The way that professor—“

“Professor McGonagall, dear,” Mrs. Granger reminded.

“Right, but no matter, the way she made it sound, Hogwarts was the only school we could send our daughter to.”

“It's what they wanted you to believe. But trust us, there are many magical schools out there—though not everyone would accept a foreign student—and most certainly, not all are equal,” said Alice.

“And those of us who do know that fact, we simply choose to continue tradition. It's where my son went, it's where I went, it was only natural my grandson would also attend,” said Madam Longbottom.

“Yet you have to admit, the school is nothing like it used to be. How many critical classes have been eliminated... classes that would have made things easier for those who have been raised in the non-magical world—what magical England refer to as Muggle-born, or Muggle-raised?”

“We don't like to use the word 'Muggle' here, it's considered derogatory,” Will explained.

Alice continued, “To a child raised in a non-magical home, being suddenly thrust into the magical world would be a culture shock. Plenty of studies have been done over the years, all coming to a similar conclusion. Growing up ignorant of the magical world, then suddenly being dropped into the middle of it... that will only result in problems.”

“Children in the Commonwealth are introduced to magic very early in their education. In fact all the subjects in our school system eventually involve magical elements.”

“Fascinating,” said Mrs. Granger.

“It is truly delightful, to watch little boys and girls and their first experience around magic. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, think of the first time you witnessed your daughter experience accidental magic.”

“I think she had to be, what, four?” Mr. Granger answered, after thinking a moment.

“It had to be the time she dropped the picture book she was looking at. She was strapped in the high-chair at that time, see.”

“She started crying, reaching for it, and -poof- the book literally sailed into her hand. She just sat there... think it startled her just as much as it startled us,” Mr. Granger finished.

“Like I said, all children are introduced to magic very early. One of the first classes they attend, we have someone who is magical visit and give a demonstration. In some cases, we're very lucky and have a magical teacher. In cases we don't, it's just a matter of inviting someone in.”

“Some of my colleagues would be outraged at such a concept,” said Madam Longbottom. “However, I do have to wonder, how do the two societies coexist here?”

“About as well as any place, really. There is always that element,” said Will, “No matter how well adjusted we try to be, there are always people who wish to cause problems for everyone else. But otherwise, I think we do quite well as a society. Education is the heart of it, and we start early. Someone who is magical is just as human as someone who is not—it's just a part of the individual, nothing more. Everyone is treated equally here. Or that's what we strive for. And for the most part, it works.”

“Something to take home with you is this thought. We've had our share of criminals. But never—ever, not once—have we had an individual cause grief and strife such as Voldemort has in England. Never.”

For dinner, the group went to a restaurant a few blocks away from the theatre, where they dined on all-you-can-eat pizza. The adults all agreed that, for now, the kids needed not know about the Wizengamot's recent legislation. The notifications would go out in due time.

“Y'know, Harry, we should do this again for your birthday. This 'motion-picture' concept was amazing,” said Mazhe.

“I think that would be excellent,” Harry agreed, “And you guys are all invited.”

“Merlin, that building was enormous inside, you could practically play Quidditch inside,” said Ron.

“Uh, I don't think they would appreciate that much, guys,” said Harry, although he gave a mad grin. “We'll stick to your Quidditch paddock.”

“About that, mate,” George quipped.

“When you planning on coming to visit?” Fred finished.

“Early August. Perhaps we could also make an outing to Diagon Alley while I'm visiting. Though you guys know I'll likely not be returning to Hogwarts in September.”

“Doesn't mean we can't all make a day of it in the Alley,” said Hermione, “I mean—“

“We'll make sure you can meet up with your friends, Hermione,” said Mrs. Granger.

“And likewise, if you can come to an agreement on a date, I'll make sure Neville makes it,” said Madam Longbottom, “I couldn't be more pleased that he's made a few friends.”

“All of you guys made Hogwarts easier to bear,” said Harry, “And like I said back on the train, probably the only thing I'll really miss. Though the castle is truly beautiful—a lot of its contents just...” he let out a sigh. “I'll be glad to pick up my second-year classes while I'm at the College of Winterhold.”

“You know... if the Arch-mage would allow it, we could have a Christmas party at the College. I mean, it would also be up to the Commonwealth, but...”

“I'm sure we could probably come to some sort of arrangement, Mazhe,” said Will, “As long as we can maintain security, it shouldn't be a problem.”

“I would only agree to such an outing if there are appropriate chaperones,” said Madam Longbottom, firmly.

“At a minimum, I will be there,” said Justin, “Though it would only be fair that you be invited as well. But most definitely, there will be adult supervision.”

That got a snicker out of Harry. “Adult. Uh huh.”

Mazhe looked at Harry a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Do I want to know?” Alice asked, pursing her lips.

“No. You don't.” Justin only shook his head, his face becoming rather flushed.

“Thousands of conjured, singing ducks,” said Harry, smugly.

“While Drevis was trying to conduct a lesson,” Mazhe finished.

Justin sighed, and buried his face in his hands. Fred and George looked at each other, and grinned madly.

“In my defence,” Justin muttered, “He is a strange duck and all.”

“True. I think it took him about ten minutes before he noticed what was going on,” Harry remembered.

“Sounds like Binns,” said George, “You could set off a firework and he'd never notice.”

All too soon, it was time for everyone to head home. It was going on 5 o'clock local time, which meant 1 o'clock in the morning back in the U.K. So, it was a discreet port key back to the theatre's lobby, where Harry bid good night to his friends.

Harry and Mazhe, however, did not return to the College. Instead, Will and Alice led them to the elevators at the north end of the lobby. Justin followed, and they were shown to a suite of rooms on the upper floor of the building. Various government officials had used the rooms over the years, and if anything, it was as nice as a night in a pricey hotel room. At Harry's question of why, Alice simply answered, “We have a few places to visit, so you're set up for the week.”

“Brilliant.”

“I need not remind you, Mazhe, stay close. You still have your emergency port key?” Alice questioned.

“Always with me, miss.”

“Still, stay with Harry and Justin. Rather the local officials not discover you're not from around here. It would result in a rather awkward incident.”

“Justin's explained the danger.”

“Good.”

* * *

For the next week, Harry and Mazhe became tourists in San Francisco. There were loads of places to see and things to do, so there was no shortage of entertainment. At a minimum, Justin joined them, but on a number of tours and expeditions, Either Will, Alice, or both of them joined the trio. Justin's camera became stuffed with photos of their adventures, and they would be developed once they returned to the Commonwealth proper.

Their trips included a visit to the Golden Gate Bridge—a skillfully placed notice-me-not charm had allowed Will to use a broom and get a most interesting photo of the trio... from beyond the fence rail. In fact, most of their tours and excursions had become a little bit... different... thanks to magic.

Finally, on July 16, the trio collected their amassed souvenirs, and travelled by port key back to the College of Winterhold. Harry had indeed wanted a proper vacation, and the Commonwealth had certainly provided, and then some. It had been massively entertaining, and as Mazhe had put it, something well worth doing again.

* * *

_19 Sun's Height, 4E197 (19 July, 2002)  
College of Winterhold_

“Right, everyone. Great work. Remember, just reading the tome isn't enough, Telekinesis is a challenging spell to master, but incredibly useful. So keep practising it. Tomorrow, we'll—”

“Harry.” Harry turned to find Alice at the door to the room.

“Something wrong?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Right.” He turned back to the group of students. “We'll pick up again tomorrow. Off you go.”

“Teaching?” Alice was impressed.

“Been doing that for a couple of years actually,” Harry answered, as they headed for his quarters. “What's happened?”

“Just wait until we're in private.”

“Something bad, then.”

“Just hold your questions.”

They crossed the court yard in silence. Alice and Will most certainly did visit him at the college on occasion, if only just to touch base and make sure everything was still going smoothly. So what had happened?

They at last arrived at the entrance to the Hall of Attainment. Mazhe was seated at his own desk, writing notes, a heavy tome lay open to his left.

“Miss Wheeler,” he greeted, then, “Something happened?”

“Harry... these are for you. I'll let you read those, then have your thoughts on the matter.”

She passed over two sealed letters, both having his name on them. Harry sighed, somehow knowing he wasn't going to like the contents of either of them. He opened the first.

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_This is to inform you that your notice to withdraw from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been rescinded. Recent legislation passed by the Wizengamot does not allow voluntary withdrawals from the school under normal circumstances. This, naturally, includes transfers to other schools—the reason for the filing of your notice._

_Failure to comply with this edict will result in the freezing of all vaults and holdings by the Ministry, as well as the possibility of the snapping of your wand and the binding of your magic._

_Hope you are well,_  
 _Firella Cuthbert,_  
 _Department of Magical Education_

 

Harry was stunned. “Can they really do this?”

“I'm afraid they can. The government is still looking into how to respond to this.”

“It's blackmail. I'll pay him in kind when the time comes,” said Harry, dangerously, as he passed the offensive letter to Mazhe.

He then opened the other. It, of course, was the notice of rejection from _Sir Malcolm Davis Institute_. Can't attend one school while enrolled at another, right?

“We're still trying to get the goblins to help us out a little. At least give you an idea of what your worth truly is. For the time being, it looks like you'll have to return to Hogwarts for a second year,” said Will, sympathetically.

“I'll get myself expelled then.”

“Like hell you will,” said Mazhe, darkly, “Do your best, right? I still have your promise, don't I?”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry didn't sound too enthusiastic about the whole affair. It was then they heard the door open, and seconds later, both Will and Justin entered. It was clear both of them were aware of the notices as well.

“You've been informed, I see,” Will said.

Harry nodded glumly.

“Just think of this. You did make a few friends last year. And, if we're lucky, we'll figure out something to get this draconian measure quashed, hopefully sooner than later,” Will pointed out.

“As it stands, we'll keep the same schedule, since classes begin on the same date no matter which school you enrolled with,” said Alice.

“Harry, there is something else we have to go over,” said Will, “Given the headmaster's rather brazen attempt at tampering with your mind and your memories.”

Will withdrew a thin book from his satchel.

“This will likely be rather dry reading, but it's important you go over it if you want to protect yourself against further attempts on your mind.”

“ _Occlumency_?”

“Protecting your mind from unwanted intrusions. That stuff is rather advanced, so you probably won't be able to get any sort of handle on it for a few years. But there are a few lesser techniques you can use, more like indicators that someone has done something to your mind. The thing you really need to focus on here is something called a _memory totem_.”

“But reading all of it won't hurt,” Alice picked up, “Occlumency is an advanced art, and it doesn't hurt to start to familiarize yourself with it. Eventually, we'll bring in someone who can teach you.”

“If it'll help, why not?”

* * *

That, of course, wasn't the last bit of excitement. The morning following his twelfth birthday, Harry woke to find a rather strange creature standing beside the bed. At first, he thought it might have been a scamp—a Daedric creature from the plane of Oblivion—and nearly cursed the poor thing. However, he quickly noticed the odd creature was actually wearing what looked like a filthy pillowcase. Definitely not a scamp, then.

Harry settled on being blunt and direct. “What are you and what do you want?”

“Harry Potter sir!” the creature squeaked out, in a high-pitched voice that echoed quite well in the stone room that was their quarters. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir, such an honour it is...”

This, of course, woke the others.

“Harry? What's going on?” Mazhe asked, sleepily. Justin, meanwhile, muttered and sat up. It was clear he immediately recognized the creature among them.

“Guys, uh...” said Harry, eyes still fixed on the strange thing. He then answered, “Thank you, but you still haven't answered my question. What—or who are you?”

“Dobby, sir. Just Dobby, the house elf,” the tiny creature answered, casting a weary eye toward the others.

“Ah... well... Sorry for being a bit gruff... you did give me a start,” Harry apologized, “Err... well... you seem to know who I am, but... this is Mazhe, and Justin, my best friends.”

It took several minutes to get the small being calmed down, as it went into complete hysterics. It was completely off its nut, that was all there was to it.

“We can't help each other with you going mental,” said Harry, as he gently pushed the elf into a chair in the corner of the room. “Now what is it that's sent you this far to seek me out?”

“Dobby has come to tell you... it is most difficult, sir... Dobby wonders where to begin...”

“How about start at the beginning,” Justin suggested.

Harry, meanwhile, summoned a hand towel from the small wash table, and offered it to Dobby—which of course nearly sent him into hysterics again.

“Look. Either tell me what the problem is, or you can leave. Going into hysterics isn't helping things.”

“Dobby is sorry, sir, but... Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter not to go back to Hogwarts.”

“Dobby... if I could be done with Hogwarts, I would be happy to. Unfortunately I'm sort of bound to return. I'll lose my inheritance, and possibly a lot more if I don't.”

“No no no,” Dobby squeaked, frightfully, “Harry Potter must stay where it is safe, if he returns to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger.”

Justin frowned. “By who?”

The conversation deteriorated somewhat from there. The elf was clearly frightened of his masters, and kept punishing himself if he said too much. Harry, however, was able to put enough of it together to figure out the important bits. The elf's owners were going to set something in motion that would put students at the school in grave danger. Exactly what kind of danger, Harry didn't know at that point. But he knew enough to keep an eye out.

Finally having said his piece, the elf simply vanished, leaving Harry and his friends rather confused.

“You have no idea how much I regret getting on the train last September,” Harry muttered, as he flopped back down on the bed.

“Don't blame you one bit. I'd send a letter to Miss Wheeler soon as you can, let her know what happened.”

“Count on it.”

Harry rubbed his face with his hands.

“Last year was a mess, and now this year's lining up to be a carbon copy. Great fun.”

* * *

_27 August , 2002  
Diagon Alley_

As had been the plan back at the beginning of July, Harry had spent the last part of August with the Weasleys at the Burrow. He'd certainly seen a Wizarding home before, but the Burrow was fantastic. It was as if every scrap of it had been built with love... and magic. In fact, it was if magic itself was keeping the place upright. Ron was clearly unhappy with the place he called home, but Harry loved it right from the start.

Back to the point of our story, it was a rather large group who travelled through the floo network that morning—Justin had brought Mazhe along just a few minutes earlier. They passed through the Leaky Cauldron, and into Diagon Alley.

Harry did somewhat appreciate how everything was in one place, unlike in Trevelyan... and at the same time, it was irritating. Everything clustered together, isolated from the non-magical world. It was one more reason he was quite happy to stay at the College.

Just after 11:30 in the morning, Harry met up with the rest of his school friends at _Florean Fortescue's_ Ice Cream Parlour. Since Justin was more than capable with a wand, neither Will or Alice joined them this time. The Ministry of Social Services were quite insistent (Harry, of course, having no clue about this) that Harry have a magical chaperone when out in public, at least outside of the Commonwealth.

“Harry!” Hermione greeted, giving Harry a warm hug.

“Hermione... good to see you,” Harry grinned, “Good summer?”

“Great. Yours?”

“Since July? Meh, not bad, I guess. Really not looking forward to dealing with another year at Hogwarts, though.”

After treating everyone to an ice-cream, the group somewhat went in different directions. Mrs. Weasley was taking their youngest child to get her school things, and suggested they all meet up in an hour or so at Flourish & Blott's, the bookstore.

“The books are gonna be expensive this year for you guys,” said Justin, as they made their way to the apothecary, “Lockhart's books alone are not cheap—though I don't know why they're needed in the first place.”

“Why's that?” Ron asked.

“Gilderoy Lockhart is a fraud. His books tell great stories, but that's about all they do. Not a word in them can be taken at face value.”

“But... how can you say that, Mr... Mr. Fraser?” Hermione protested, “He's so—“

“Miss Granger, you have to realize, not everything written in a book can be taken at face value. Back in the Commonwealth, the Department of Information has quite the little file on him. None of it good. My advice for the bunch of you, avoid him like the plague,” Justin warned them.

They spent the next hour collecting the other items needed on the equipment list for the upcoming year—Hermione kept casting frigid glares at Justin. The dark-haired wizard had challenged her perception of things, and she wasn't happy about it.

They nearly had to drag Ron away from Quality Quidditch Supplies, where a full set of Chudley Cannon robes was on display in the window. Harry's eyes lingered momentarily on a broom with a black handle also on display—he'd been on a broom a few times, and certainly liked the feeling, but to fork out a bag full of galleons on a broom of his own? Perhaps next year.

They stopped into the stationary shop next door, where they purchased quills, ink, and parchment—although Harry had pretty much given up on the quill, electing to use a regular ball-point pen. Even back at the College, it was much easier than worrying about re-inking the quill every few words. Of course, the professors at Hogwarts had objected to him using it, but Harry had easily pointed out that nowhere in the school rules was it forbidden.

After meeting Fred, George, and their friend Lee Jordan in a wizarding joke shop, it was finally off to Flourish & Blotts, the bookshop. Harry groaned, seeing the crowd of people outside. The banner stretched across the upper windows of the shop gave them the reason:

 

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_  
 _will be signing copies of his autobiography_  
 _MAGICAL ME_  
 _today 12:30 – 4:30 pm_

 

“Wonder if he's open to a few questions,” Justin wondered, nastily.

“Please don't embarrass me,” Harry groaned, already regretting making the trip. “Come on, let's get this over with.”

The group squeezed by a harassed-looking wizard trying to control the crowd—most of them made up of witches Mrs. Weasley's age by the looks of it—and into the store proper. There was a lengthy queue snaking its way around the store, to the back of it, where the man himself was seated at a table, signing his books.

Harry instantly detested the man. He was wearing a god-awful set of powder blue robes, and was surrounded by portraits of his own face, flashing his painfully-white teeth at the crowd.

“No, not vain in the least,” Justin snorted.

“He's in love with himself. Narcissism at its best—or worst,” Harry frowned, shaking his head.

“Come on, let's get our books and find mum,” Ron suggested.

“I think that's them up there with my mum and dad,” said Hermione, pointing a little further up the queue.

“I'll look after your books, guys,” Justin offered, “Go on ahead.”

The group, minus Justin, made their way up to where Mr. And Mrs. Weasley were, as were the Grangers.

“Oh, there you are, good,” said Mrs. Weasley, breathless. She kept patting her hair. “We'll be able to see him in a minute.”

Up close, the man came across as even more obnoxious than at a distance, flashing his painfully-white teeth at the audience, as well as the annoying camera man dancing around, taking pictures of the event with a large black camera.

“Out of the way you lot, this is for the _Daily Prophet_ ,” he snarled, nearly knocking Harry over as he pushed back to get a better shot.

“Excuse me!” Harry hissed, not appreciating such treatment.

That, unfortunately, drew Lockhart's attention. He glanced once, then twice, at Harry. Then he scrambled to his feet.

“It _can't_ be Harry Potter?”

He practically dragged Harry up to the table as the crowd burst into applause, and Harry felt his face go red as Lockhart pumped his arm, and the camera flashed.

“Nice, big smile, Harry,” said Lockhart, through his own glittering teeth, “Together, you and I are worth the front page.”

“Let go of me. Now.”

“Come now, Harry,” Lockhart placated—then let out a yelp, and collapsed to the floor as though he'd been shot. A purple glow was radiating from Harry's left hand, the only evidence he'd been the one to cause such a reaction from the celebrity.(1)

“I did ask him to let go of me,” said Harry, with a shrug, “Man doesn't understand manners, I guess—nor the meaning of personal space, for that matter.”

The camera continued to flash as the Weasleys led Harry away, while others quickly attended to the stricken man.

“What did you do to him?” Mazhe asked.

“Shock spell to his manhood. I asked him to let go of me, he didn't. I decided he needed a small, painful lesson.”

Mazhe only smirked, appreciative of exactly what sort of pain the man was in, still crumpled to the floor.

“Feel like I need a hot bath,” Harry muttered, as they moved off to the side of the shop.

“Bet you just loved that, didn't you, _Potter_?”

Harry turned to find Draco Malfoy, along with a man he guessed was the boy's father. They were carbon copies of themselves, and now Harry knew where the boy got his patented sneer from.

“Famous Harry Potter,” Malfoy sneered, “Can't even go into a _bookstore_ without making the front page.”

“How about you piss off, before I give you another public lesson,” answered Harry, in a bored tone, “I already dealt with one ponce today, care to make it two?”

“How dare you,” the older man hissed, about to round on Harry.

“No, how dare _you_. I think I can easily work out where junior here gets his attitude from. You wouldn't last five minutes where I come from.”

“Oh, and where might that be, Mr. Potter?” The elder Malfoy sneered.

“A place I won't be mentioning here. Now how about you run along, before you do something that might get you hurt?”

He flicked his eyes toward the still prone Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Wouldn't want you to soil your robes, now, would we?”

Draco lunged at Harry, but hadn't moved an inch before Mazhe nailed him with a shock spell of his own. The boy collapsed almost as quickly as Lockhart had. His father moved to draw his wand.

“How dare you! I'll—“

Now it was Harry's turn. A yellowish green arc of magic shot from Harry's outstretched hand, and the senior Malfoy fell over like a statue, frozen in his current state.(2)

“Let's go, before it wears off,” Harry urged, then turned to Draco, still prone ground. “And you, Draco. I warned you.”

Another thrust of the hand, and a red blast of magic struck the boy. He whimpered and passed out. The group wasted no time fleeing the store.

“What sort of magic was that, Harry?” Mr. Weasley dared ask, as the larger group at last collected themselves not far from the bookstore.

“It's magic I've been learning where I was raised.”

“Wandless?”

“All of it.”

“What... what did you do to Mr. Lockhart?” came Ron's question.

“Shock spell. It was relatively mild, but it got him to let go of me. Didn't appreciate being man-handled. Really shouldn't have come today—had I known this was going to happen... I would've ordered my books and supplies by owl.”

“Miss Weasley,” said Justin, crouching down so he was eye-level, “May I see your cauldron for a moment?”

“Of course.”

Ginny held out her cauldron, and Justin reached in a hand, plucking out a thin leather-bound journal.

“I saw Mr. Malfoy's father putting this in her cauldron.”

“Oh dear. If that came from Lucius Malfoy, it can't be anything good,” said Mr. Weasley, gravely, “Thank you for your keen observation, Mr. Fraser.”

“You're all friends of Harry's. If it's as you say, it could have put all of them in danger. I'll pass this off to the Ministry of Justice, let them figure out what it is.”

He flipped the journal over.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” he read from the back cover, “I've heard that name from somewhere... just can't think of where.”

“No one I've ever heard of, Mr. Fraser,” said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head.

“Whatever it is, as I said, the government will get to the bottom of it. We've got a rather lengthy file on the Malfoys as it stands, none of it good.”

“You've got files on loads of people then?” Harry guessed.

“Unfortunately, yes,” answered Justin, as they started for the Leaky Cauldron, “See, the Commonwealth doesn't have any official enemies, but the Dark Lord was scary, even for us. We keep an eye on things—or people who start making a name for themselves... particularly in the wrong way.”

“How do you know Lockhart is a fraud?” Of course, Hermione would come back to that point.

“Investigation,” answered Justin, “Mainly, trying to prove his deeds, see. The government was able to prove his stories are lies, simply by inconsistencies. Believe me, it's been investigated to death.”

“Sounds like he pissed someone off,” said Mazhe.

“Hit the nail right on the head, my friend,” said Justin, shaking his head. “Tried to Obliviate a rather powerful witch out on assignment with the Ministry of Justice.”

“Obliviating her... because she saw what he was truly trying to do,” Harry guessed.

“Yeah, that's what the government thinks. More than a few people would like to get him doused with Veritaserum, get him to spill his dirty secrets.”

Harry glanced over at Mrs. Weasley, and she looked terribly hurt. The lightning-struck-tower(3) had reared its ugly head. Hermione, too, looked a little bewildered at this point, though likely for a different reason. Harry knew how much faith she put in what was the printed word. Another terrible truth, but thus was the nature of growing up.

* * *

September 1 came far too quickly for Harry's liking, and so it was, he was on his way to King's Cross train station with Justin and Mazhe. Mrs. Weasley had offered for Harry to spend the remainder of the summer at the Burrow, but Harry declined, wishing to spend the last few days back at the College.

They arrived at the train station with an hour to spare. Harry loaded his trunk onto a trolley, along with Hedwig, who was asleep in her cage—the Cornells looked after her over the summer while he'd been at the College, as it had been decided it might not be safe for her in Skyrim. Remembering the strange glances he had gotten last time, he had bought a lovely velvet cover for her cage. It looked a lot less conspicuous.

Waiting for the Weasleys, however, proved to be a mistake. The large brood arrived with only a few minutes to spare.

“What took you guys so long?” Harry asked, as they watched Percy walk through the barrier.

“Fred forgot his broomstick,” said George.

“And George forgot his box of fireworks,” Fred added.

“And Ginny forgot her diary,” answered Ron, “Took us forever to leave the house.”

“If the lot of you would have packed last night rather than at the last minute,” Mrs. Weasley huffed, as her husband followed Percy. Then it was Fred and George, one right after the other. Finally Mrs. Weasley took Ginny and vanished.

“Come on then,” said Ron, pushing his trolley toward the barrier. Harry joined, crouching low over his trolley, breaking into a bit of a run a few feet away.

_Crash_. Trunks went flying, as did Hedwig's cage, the owl inside letting out indignant screeches, and the other contents of the trolleys were scattered across the platform, with both young wizards knocked onto their backsides. Justin did his best not to laugh, while Mazhe failed miserably.

“What in blazes are you doing?” came a yell from a nearby guard.

“S-sorry. Lost control of the trolley,” Harry apologized.

He looked around, and sure enough, he'd drawn attention from people on the platform, including the frowning guard.

“Why can't we get through?” Harry muttered, discreetly pushing a hand against the column. It was as solid as the rest of them.

“Bizarre,” said Justin, “Hang on, I'm gonna call Alice, let her know we've run into a problem. Put your trolleys back in order, guys.”

Harry had seen Justin use his mobile phone more than a few times already. It was truly remarkable. It worked in a great number of places, even outside of the Commonwealth—and it was a non-magical invention. Not a scrap of magic involved, at least, other than that which made sure it would work in a magically-saturated environment.

He was on his mobile for several minutes, then at last hung up.

“All right. We're going back to Erwin. Alice is making a floo call to the headmaster, but we'll be taking the floo to a small pub in Hogsmeade, the Three Broomsticks.”

“Yeah, Percy's been in there loads of times,” said Ron.

“Let's get somewhere private then.”

A few minutes later, they were in a small alcove out of sight. Justin pulled a length of rope out of his satchel. The trunks and other items hand already been shrunk down and stowed in pockets.

“Never know when I might need to do this. _Portus_ ,” he whispered, causing the rope to quiver and momentarily turn blue.

“A Port key? Blimey, though just the Ministry was allowed to make those.”

“Justin is with the Ministry—or the Commonwealth equivalent, Ron. Get a finger on it.”

Mazhe, Ron, and Harry put a finger on the port key, and with Justin's spoken “ _Activate_ ,” they were off in a whirl of limbs and flashing light.

They landed directly in front of their destination: a modern-looking building with a sign above it: _Erwin Public Library Branch 31_. More than a few noticed their arrival, but not a second thought was given to it. Ron looked around, clearly confused. Hermione, had, after all, described a Muggle neighbourhood to him, and this looked exactly like one.

“The Library? What are we doing at the library?” Ron questioned, “And... this looks like a Muggle neighbourhood.”

“You'd be surprised at the number of witches and wizards that might be about, Mr. Weasley,” Justin laughed, “Come on, we'll use a public fireplace inside.”

“In a library in a Muggle neighbourhood?” Ron looked at Justin like he'd grown a second head.

“Welcome to the Commonwealth of Valicadia, Ron. There's no such thing as the Muggle world here,” Harry explained, “There are non-magical folks around, but everyone lives and works together, see.”

“Think about this,” said Justin, “Being able to do magic is only a small part of who you are. Am I right? Just as much as having green eyes--” he gestured to Harry. “The Commonwealth encourages everyone to embrace their individuality, and recognize that in others. It works for the most part.”

“Bloody hell...”

“Right. Here.” The group had arrived at an enormous fireplace in the lobby with a fire crackling cheerfully in the grate. “Mazhe... you know the rules of course.”

“Done this enough, you don't need to remind me,” Mazhe scowled. It was definitely not his favourite way to travel.

“You don't like travelling by floo powder,” Ron guessed.

“We're virtually identical in that we both end up on our arses on the way out. Quite comical, actually,” Harry grinned.

“Maybe to you,” Mazhe muttered, “Let's get this over with.”

“I'll go first. Ron, you follow. Mazhe and Harry, you come through last.”

“Sounds right to me.”

Less than a minute later, the four of them were standing in a small pub, with Justin spelling the soot off their clothes. The place seriously clashed with the place they'd just travelled by floo powder from. There were a few patrons about, but none of them gave the four of them a second glance, as they made for the door. Perhaps there might have been time to get a bite to eat and maybe something to drink, but they were on a bit of a schedule. Someone was meeting them at the gates to the school in a few minutes' time.

That individual turned out to be Rubeus Hagrid, the school's groundskeeper. Harry had certainly met the man on a few occasions in the castle, and he was a right friendly individual, a gentle giant.

“Harry, Ron. Got yerselves in a bit o' trouble, have yeh?”

“A little, Hagrid. Oh. This is Mazhe, and Justin, two of my friends from, uh, where I stay when I'm not at school. Guys, Rubeus Hagrid.”

“Pleasure,” said Justin, as they shook hands. It was rather comical, given the size of Hagrid's hands.

“Come on then.” Hagrid made gesture toward Mazhe and Justin. “You pair need ter be off somewhere?”

“No, not really.”

“Come for a cuppa, then.”

All too soon, it was time for Harry to part ways with Justin and Mazhe. They had spent the entire afternoon in Hagrid's hut, enjoying tea and snacks. Harry had opened up a little more about his pre-Hogwarts education, somewhat surprising the half-giant. Hagrid, had of course, reciprocated, telling a few stories about Harry's parents and some of the mischief they had gotten into as students. To Harry, that was a gift, for it continued to fill in the picture of his parents—normal witches and wizards, just like he was.

“All right, Harry. I'll see you in a weeks' time,” said Justin, as they walked up the pathway to the train station.

“And I'll try and come visit more often,” Mazhe promised, “But you know the College is keeping me busy now.”

“I know.”

“Just try and keep out of trouble.” But Mazhe stuck his tongue out and grinned.

“Wonder if I should try conjuring up a flock of singing ducks during Binns' lecture,” Harry grinned.

“Wait a few years, Harry. Conjuration's very difficult.” He then stopped his friend, and they embraced. “Have a good term.”

“I'll try.”

“Likewise. But as I said, I'll see you in a weeks' time.” Another embrace, and Mazhe and Justin Disapparated.

“All right, you pair, time ter meet the train.”

* * *

The fall term was every bit as trying as the previous year's, mainly due to a single individual: the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He was every bit as bad as the previous year's, and his name was Gilderoy Lockhart. He now knew without a doubt the man was in love with himself. His classroom was half-filled with moving portraits of the man and that damnable toothy smile—how did one manage to show ALL of his teeth anyway?

He had opened the first lesson giving them all a quiz—about himself. What was Lockhart's favourite colour? Secret ambition? Greatest achievement to date? Seriously, the man was barking. Greatest achievement to date? Still breathing, maybe? To the detriment of the real world, he had snorted in his head, love to see the fop take on a Draugr or four.

Within a week, he had resurrected his extra-curricular study group from the previous year, claiming the same unused classroom on the second floor. He also opened things up on Sundays, inviting other years in to join them, seeing if he could help more than just his own class. If he picked up more advanced material in the process, even better.

Make no mistake, Harry was not wasting his time at Hogwarts. Even though he was forced to be there, he took the opportunity in front of him. He would have done the same thing had he been accepted into the academy back in the Commonwealth. The only difference would have been him not under the scrutiny of a certain meddling wizard.

No surprise, he had been summoned to the headmaster's office almost immediately after the welcome feast. Professor Dumbledore had begun with apologies for his behaviour at the end of the year, but swiftly turned to attempting to get Harry back under his control. Harry, of course, would have no part of it. A letter was sent out the following morning through Hedwig back to the Commonwealth, letting Justin know what was going on.

Equally annoying, were the number of 'chats' Lockhart kept wanting to have. The man was bordering on predatory with his actions, making the young wizard extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps that would need to be dealt with as well. Christmas holidays couldn't arrive soon enough.

* * *

But arrive they did, and on December 21, Harry returned to London. His friends were waiting, and a port key took them back to the College of Winterhold. Both Justin and Mazhe were able to read Harry quite well, and they could tell the young wizard was more than anxious to return to the College. Barring the friends he had made at Hogwarts, his overall experiences there were less than stellar.

“So this Lockhart character. He's really that bad,” said Mazhe, as they crossed the courtyard to the Hall of Attainment.

“Trust me, the guy's downright predatory, I think. I'm a hair's breath away from cursing him to atoms. You'd think a shock spell to the unmentionables would be a strong enough message.”

Mazhe shook his head. “The man certainly lacks common sense, by the sound of it.”

“As do the Malfoys. You saw them. Proof to the old saying, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree—something like that anyway. I might have to do something more permanent somewhere down the road—they're a nasty lot, only cause trouble. He called Hermione a Mudblood—“

“Oh really,” said Justin, nastily.

“But Ron got him good, had him belching out giant black slugs for the next hour... served him right.(4)”

“Now that would have been priceless.”

“Yeah, Colin got some really nice, embarrassing pictures of it, I'll show you when I'm unpacked.”

“A Mudblood?” Mazhe was confused, though it didn't take a lot to figure it didn't mean anything nice.

“Well... I would be one. It's a derogatory term for someone who has non-magical parents. Saying that in the Commonwealth could land you in jail—or at minimum a nasty fine.”

“Typically, there weren't any teachers around when he said it... that's the thing about Malfoy, he's always careful there's no teachers around when he acts out.”

“He'll screw up eventually, they always do,” said Justin.

“That they do,” Mazhe agreed.

“No matter, as soon as the Commonwealth gets me out from under Dumbledore, I’ll be coming back here and not returning to Hogwarts. Whether I have to deal with Voldemort or not, there wasn’t anything in my _destiny_ saying I had to learn magic at Hogwarts.”

“This is true,” Justin agreed, “All right, all right, let's leave all that nonsense behind, you're here to forget about that for a while.”

“Yes, how true. Why don't you guys get unpacked? The court-wizard from Whiterun's here to see you.”

“Farengar?”

“That would be him. Wants to have a chat with you about those books he gave you last... um... Christmas.”

“Oh... right, sure.”

* * *

On December 23, the group attended a spectacular holiday concert, held at the Fox Theatre. There were a number of acts, and all of them featured young performers. The music was a cross-section of the art, covering everything from Broadway to hit music from the present day. The event closed with all of the groups squeezing on stage and having the audience join in with the singing of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas', the powerful Wurlitzer organ providing the music.

Harry and Mazhe were both a bit lost with the lyrics, having not heard much in terms of traditional holiday music, but they both had a blast.

“The, uh, performers were amazing,” said Mazhe, as the crowd began a mass exodus. The group remained in their seats for the time being, since the event was not put on by the Commonwealth. They would wait until the crowd thinned out before leaving themselves.

“They're show choirs from local high schools. Glee clubs.”

“Did you?”

“Join them? No. Singing wasn't my thing,” Justin answered, “Sir Malcolm Davis' glee club wasn't bad, but... I was a good supporter though, went to more than a few of their performances and stuff... school pride and all that.” He grinned. “Of course, in grade nine, I did try out for the Drama Club. I was in it for one semester and that was it. Discovered acting wasn't my thing.”

“So what kinds of things did you do when you went to school then?” Harry asked.

“Swimming. I was on the swim team. Again not all that successful, but winning isn't everything and all that, I had a lot of fun. It's what being in a club or a team is all about. And I did try out for the football team in grade ten. Then you came along, Harry.”

Harry gave his friend a sad smile. “Sorry.”

“It's nothing to be sorry for. Most of them were typical jocks anyway. A little dense, if you get my meaning.”

That got a chuckle out of the group.

“Do you regret it?” asked Mazhe.

“Why would I? Having the chance to be Harry's teacher, going out on crazy adventures with you two... no. Definitely not.”

* * *

_March 27, 2003_

Harry was startled at breakfast by an unexpected owl that nearly planted itself in his cereal. Harry recognized the seal on the letter before he opened it: Gringotts.

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_In reaction to recent action taken by the Muggle American Department of Justice against Umbrella Corporation, Gringotts has hastily sold off all your shares of the company, as share values have dropped by an unacceptable threshold over the past forty-eight hours. The value has been added to your trust vault in accordance with the direction of your guardians._

_No loss was incurred, but only a small profit was made from the sale of said shares. I can suggest other avenues of investment, should you be interested._

_Sincerely,_  
 _Evstor, Senior Account Manager,_  
 _Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley Branch_

 

“What's that Harry?” Ron asked.

“Uh, I'm a little confused.”

“Let me see it,” said Hermione, taking the letter. She quickly read it.

“Oh. I've heard about them. The Muggle papers have loads to say about Umbrella, none of it good. They were making biological weapons.”

Ron looked just as confused as Harry. “Bio—what?”

“It's really bad, Ron. They were making things that would make people into monsters.”

“But... what's this got to do with... well... this?” Harry gestured to the letter.

“Gringotts sold your shares before you lost money. That's it. And there are better places to invest. I would take Evstor up on his offer,” Hermione suggested.

* * *

The rest of the school year passed without incident—save for an instance near the end of May, when Amelia Bones arrived at the school along with a contingent of Aurors during dinner. Gilderoy Lockhart was taken into custody, the charges for the time being withheld from the public. Harry, of course, had a very good idea of what happened, and smirked the whole time the vile man was being led out of the Great Hall at wand-point. It seemed, the curse on the Dark Arts Defence position remained intact.

The morning everyone was to catch the Hogwarts Express back to London, it was no surprise that Harry received a summons up to the headmaster's office. This time, he declined the offer to sit, but stood by Fawkes, who rested on his ornate perch, regarding him with his coal-black eyes.

“You wanted to see me, professor?”

“Indeed, I did, Harry. How was your year?”

“Fine, sir. If a bit slow, compared to what I'm used to. Sir, I could be teaching my year mates, easily. I teach fully-grown adults back at the College. Why did you insist on forcing me to come back here?”

“This is where you were destined to learn magic, Harry. How can you be expected to defend our world, if you were not raised and taught magic here?”

“I think it's irrelevant, sir. What difference does it make? Do you doubt what I'm capable of? Or is it that you're concerned I'm learning too much?”

Dumbledore frowned at that barb. 'Too close to the truth,' he muttered in his head. The boy was already a powerful wizard, acting more and more mature. Not easily rattled, he had easily dealt with Malfoy yet again—and several more times, according to Severus. His classmates respected him—he was easy-going with the rest of his house, effectively taught Dark Arts Defence for a second year... the boy was a natural leader. And it terrified Dumbledore. He was independent, making his own choices, asking for advice if he was unsure. Even Severus had a grudging respect for him. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

“There is nothing wrong with working ahead, Harry, but doing so without the foundation under it, you will have difficulty grasping the more advanced material.”

“Trust me, I know that, Professor. But honestly, if I wasn't sure of myself, I wouldn't be doing it, am I right? But, think of the final exams in Dark Arts Defence this year—and last, come to think of it. Our year did pretty well, am I right?”

“A point conceded.”

“And I bet this year's O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores won't be all that bad, even though Professor Lockhart was worse than Quirrell was. Professor, I know what I'm doing. Too bad our Dark Arts Defence professors don't.”

“Now Harry, I have to take exception--”

“No, Professor, 'I' take exception to piss-poor teaching!” Harry snapped right back. “Surely, there has to be someone out there who has a brain and knows how to use it. Professor Lockhart wouldn't last five minutes in Skyrim... at least not against some of the things I've fought. And Quirrell... him neither. Skyrim is a place where you either grow up, or die, simple as that.”

“Surely, not every twelve-year-old—“

“No, not every... but there are a good number. And even those who haven't been raised such as I was have more stones than most children here. It's a harsh land, sir. It's surprising how dangerous the wildlife can be... never mind the bandits, thieves, necromancers, and conjurers you might run into.”

Dumbledore gave Harry a dark look.

“Necromancy? Harry, I truly worry.”

“Had I been taken to Tamriel two hundred years ago, it would have been forbidden. The rules have relaxed somewhat since. It's an advanced form of conjuration. The teachers won't let me go near any of that stuff yet, though.”

Dumbledore now looked alarmed. The boy looked almost eager to delve into such magic—some of the darkest arts.

“Conjuration is downright amazing,” Harry continued, “All of it difficult, far beyond what I know now. But to be able to produce a storm thrall and stand back and watch it dispatch enemies, it's a powerful sight indeed. Now whether or not I learn the most advanced form—honestly, sir, I doubt it. So no need for you to get your knickers in a twist.”

“You need to respect the headmaster, young man,” scolded a portrait directly behind the headmaster's desk.

“Respect is earned, not given, don't you agree, Professor?” Harry addressed the portrait, “Keeping me here under threat of me losing my inheritance? That's not respect.”

“Yes, I daresay we come to the primary reason behind my request for you to visit. I have here a letter from your present guardians, it is important you read it.”

Dumbledore slid an envelope across the desk. Harry crossed the room, and picked it up. The writing on the envelope was Will's. He opened the envelope, and pulled out the parchment(!) inside. Wait a minute... The Ministry of Social Services never used parchment.

“Thank you. I'll be keeping this,” said Harry, nastily.

“Are you not going to read it?”

“I know a few things about the Commonwealth and its procedures, see. Common observation and all that. All of their correspondence is sent using regular paper. As far as I know, only a few departments use the old parchment. Something about cost.”

Harry smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, as he slid the offensive letter into his robes.

“I'm sure you know there are ways to determine what magic is on something... who cast the spells, and what the spells are. I'll be very interested in knowing myself, as will the social workers who handle my case, and likely a few other people.”

Dumbledore gave Harry a tragic look.

“My boy, I am only doing what is best for the _greater good_.” He reached in his robes for his wand and—

FWOOOSH!

The headmaster's desk became a raging inferno, and Harry had both hands cupped together, a swirling mass of orange glowing in them, ready to cast again.

“Don't tempt me, old man. I've incinerated more than a few arrogant mages who thought they could get the jump on me.”

“You are on a dark path, Harry.”

“No, I'm only protecting my own self-interest, headmaster,” Harry snapped, as the flames continued to consume the desk and its contents, “You've stomped on my dick nerve... _again_. Not too many people survive doing it a third time. Now I've got a train to catch. Best put that out, before it spreads. And have a good summer, _sir_.”

Harry turned to leave, but was startled, as Fawkes swooped over at him. At first thought, Harry believe the bird meant to attack him. However, the phoenix shot over top of him, and took a swipe at the headmaster, causing the old wizard to drop his wand.

“You never learn, do you?” Harry snarled, “ _Vokul mey_!(5) Oblivion take you!” With that, he fled from the office and its burning furniture.

Only when the fire began to spread to the floor did the headmaster act and extinguish the fire. Harry had just utterly stunned him, with the raw display of power. The desk was half-burned to cinders from the intensity of the spell. Quite right, had the boy actually targeted him, it would have been all over. Worse still, the boy had admitted to actually doing so—perhaps against a real enemy, but still. The boy had killed, and did not hesitate to do so. He was right on par with young Tom Riddle... perhaps a little stronger at this stage.

The boy had been able to see right through the trap Dumbledore had set for him. Now, the boy had the evidence, and would likely send it off to his minders in the Commonwealth. Of course they would never find Dumbledore's spell work on it—he knew better than to do something of that nature himself. That was what underlings were for.

After repairing the damage done by the young wizard, Dumbledore took a seat at his desk. No matter. There would be next year. Perhaps he might try something a little different. Not to mention, if everything went as planned, he might have a much better Dark Arts Defence professor lined up for next year. One way or another, he would get Harry Potter back under his control, and back on the right path.

* * *

As Harry stepped off the spiral stairs and beyond the threshold of the gargoyle which guarded the entrance, Harry had to smirk to himself. The Commonwealth had been more than helpful, providing a few bits of background on the Malfoys, among other things. This was just too beautiful an opportunity to pass up.

“Well now. If it isn't Mr. Malfoy,” said Harry, with a nasty smirk, “Most humiliating, petrified in front of all those people. That side photo in the _Prophet_ really didn't do you justice.”

Harry's eyes wandered to the fearful house-elf at Malfoy's side.

“Meddlesome boy!” Malfoy snarled, “Your parents were meddlesome fools as well, didn't know what was good for them.”

“Unlike you, I assume,” Harry said, evenly, then reached into his satchel. “Rather convenient I ran into you, actually. I have something for you. Should really be careful with your belongings, right?”

He held out the diary—actually a perfect copy of it, since the original was still in the possession of the Government—and Malfoy snatched it.

“What the...” His other hand twitched around the handle of his cane, while he thrust the book at the house-elf. He stared at the boy in front of him out of confusion for a moment, then his face contorted into a snarl.

“You will pay for this, Harry Potter. Come, Dobby.”

But Dobby didn't move. He was holding the diary in one hand, and a dark sock in another, his eyes fixed on the article of clothing as if it were treasure.

“Master has given Dobby clothes! Dobby is free!!”

“What?”

“Master has given Dobby a sock,” the elf repeated, still staring at the item in wonderment.

“You lost me my servant, boy!” Malfoy roared, lunging at Harry.

Malfoy didn't know what hit him. Between Dobby's exclamation and Harry's lightning-fast spell-casting, the man was sent hurtling down the corridor. He fell to the ground, once again paralysed.

“We'd best be going, before he wakes up,” Harry giggled.

“Harry Potter is a great wizard,” said Dobby, in awe.

“And you guys are wicked in your own right, I've done a bit of reading. Say, I have need of a little friend who can run errands. Would you like to do a bit of work for me?”

Dobby's eyes lit up like it was Christmas come early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UP NEXT: Harry's third year at Hogwarts, which passes somewhat less-eventfully, though he gains two strong allies, and a special artefact that will prove very useful in the future.
> 
> AUTHOR NOTES: Just to further clarify, San Francisco's Fox Theatre was actually demolished in 1963. But this is an alternate universe, remember. I make no apologies to the ugly structure they put in its place. In Harry's world, we'll be seeing the theatre again on occasion—it was truly an amazing venue. Look into the three remaining 'Fabulous Foxes': Detroit, St. Louis, and Atlanta. They're all truly magnificent concert venues, all of them beautifully restored and operational, and they will give you an idea of the grandeur that went into these places.  
> Sorry about the number of footnotes here, but most are related to Skyrim, and for those of you who haven't enjoyed the Elder Scrolls world, it may still be a bit confusing. The Elder Scrolls wiki is very handy... or, I would suggest trying out the game itself if you haven't already, it's truly amazing.  
> (1) The shock spell here, is of course, another spell from Skyrim. There are varying degrees of it, this one being rather mild. Harry does know a more advanced version, but in this case he didn't want to cause significant damage—only to teach a lesson (which, by the sounds of it, was not learned).  
> (2) Paralysis spell, another from the Alteration branch of magic in Skyrim. This one, as well has varying degrees of strength.  
> (3) Of course, referencing the Tower tarot card.  
> (4) Since Ron didn't bust his wand getting to school, the, uh, spell works as it was supposed to and hits the right target this time.  
> (5) _Vokul mey!_ \- Evil fool!


	7. Third Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's third year at Hogwarts, which introduces a few new courses, and a new DADA professor who is actually competent. Long buried secrets resurface, resulting in new allies, and Harry obtains a very useful artefact that would come in handy in the future.

# 7: THIRD YEAR

**August 2003 – June 2004**

* * *

To someone who did not know Harry Potter personally, to first meet him, they might be fooled into thinking they were dealing with a rather mature sixteen-year-old. He was lean, muscular, with thick black hair that grew down to his shoulders, and piercing green eyes.

Harry, however, was not sixteen. In fact, he had just turned thirteen at the end of Sun's Height, and he was still the youngest mage in the College by five years—Mazhe was still the closest to his age, with a birthday in Hearthfire. He would be eighteen this year.

As it was, Harry was seeing less and less of Mazhe during his visits to the College now. The guy was out running errands and performing small tasks for the various court-wizards in the province—the majority of which being Farengar Secret-Fire, the court-wizard of Whiterun. Harry found the man a little irritating, acting a little holier-than-thou just because he was a wizard and all. If anything the man needed to be taught a little bit of humility.

This time, however, Mazhe was about, and Harry quickly learned why. Given he was thirteen, Mazhe was more comfortable with teaching him about blades. Harry had certainly had to wield a weapon in a fight, but up to this point, he wasn't exactly effective with one. In Skyrim, being able to wield a weapon was virtually a necessity. So it was, that most of Harry's summer was consumed learning about blades—most of them being short daggers. As Mazhe explained, small blades were easily concealed, and with the right skill, were downright deadly.

The middle of Last Seed saw another addition to the College: a floo connection. Guardian Elaine, seeing there was a lasting need for such a connection, had spoken at length with Arch-mage Aren. The wizard was intrigued by the concept, but also concerned, given what she had already told him about the threat from Voldemort. Skyrim was dangerous enough without a homicidal dark wizard from another world lurking about.

Elaine was very careful in explaining the intricacies of the floo network, and more importantly, the security precautions they were able to place on connections if necessary—the one they were proposing, for example. She was in agreement that such a connection would have to be heavily warded so only those authorized could make use of it.

With that, Savos Aren agreed, and so that particular morning found an elderly wizard from the Ministry of Transportation's Floo Management Office setting up in the Hall of Attainment. Since it was heavily warded, only intended for a few people, it was placed where it would be most convenient—namely where Harry, Mazhe, and Justin stayed while at the College. For now, the access list included Harry, Justin, Will, Alice, Guardian Elaine, and Mazhe. There were a few others, all of which were Harry's tutors and teachers. The summer would be spent with him reviewing the previous years' material and preparing for the next.

* * *

The last weekend of Last Seed, Harry, Justin, and Mazhe travelled back to the Commonwealth using the floo. Since his best friend had already visited the Commonwealth before, there was no difficulty in getting permission for him to do so. Harry had, of course, received his book list for the upcoming school year, and so an outing was in order to purchase the required things.

This time around, Harry decided to purchase his things in Trevelyan, rather than visit Diagon Alley, considering what happened the previous year, and the—strange events of the year before that one. No, if Harry had anything to say about it, he wouldn't set foot in Diagon Alley ever again. He came to realize, the world he came from was just too backwards and convoluted for his own taste.

The government was still looking into ways of reversing the Ministry edicts forcing Harry to return to Hogwarts in the first place, but thus far had not had success. Harry was half tempted to not return anyway, to hell with his inheritance or whatever else the Ministry wanted to confiscate. It wasn't like he wouldn't be well-off anyway—he was already assured a teaching position with the College when the time was right. Monetary wealth really meant very little to Harry at this point.

The thing which prevented him from doing so, however, were the other potential treasures in the family vault. There could be photographs, letters, and other priceless links back to his family—things worth far more than gold. There was also the mention of the Black vault, something entirely different. It had spawned a separate investigation, which was revealing even more dark secrets being kept from Harry, namely another individual who could have been an alternative to the Dursleys—at least had he not betrayed his parents.

However, the government's investigation into Sirius Black's arrest and trial were getting nowhere. It was as if there was no record of the event whatsoever—and the situation was made far more urgent, considering the individual in question had somehow pulled off the impossible, and escaped. Harry was aware of this conundrum, and would be asking some pointed questions of Dumbledore next time he was summoned to the man's office. Equally, Harry would have some very hard questions for Black himself, should they ever meet.

* * *

_1 September, 2003_

“Gods, I so hope Dumbledore managed to find someone half-decent for Dark Arts Defence this year,” Harry grumbled, as he sorted through his books, ensuring he had the right items for that year.

“Will says it's someone named Remus Lupin,” said Justin. The group was gathered in Harry's room as he prepared to meet the train in London.

“What does the Commonwealth know about him?”

“Not a whole lot, the guy's kept himself below the radar since he left Hogwarts. Had excellent grades, made a prefect—certainly has strong marks in the subject if that's what you're wondering. Maybe you lucked out this year.”

“Good. Having to run a study group to cover for shoddy teaching wasn't really in the curriculum,” Harry muttered.

“Maybe I should apply then,” said Mazhe, “Seems they let just about anyone teach these days.”

“Well, they do have a ghost teaching history.”

“Which reinforces my point.”

“And no doubt you'd make an awesome teacher. I know you virtually live in the Arcaneum at times, Mazhe.”

“WHAT THE?!”

Mazhe had undone the wide leather strap holding a thick tome bound, and the book had literally come alive, trying to take a bite out of him. He dropped it, and it proceeded to chase him onto the bed, scattering a good number of items Harry had sorted through to go into his trunk.

“Bloody hell the thing's alive,” Harry cursed, as it chose a more viable target—him. He too, was forced up onto the bed, brandishing his wand in one hand, a frost spell at the ready in his other.

“Gods, I've heard of rogue literature before, but this brings it new meaning!”

“Come on, guys, it's easy to tame this one!” Justin half-laughed, as he jumped on the offensive book with both feet. It let out an awful shriek as though injured.

“Is... everything all right?” Tolfdir now stood in the doorway, looking somewhat confused. Justin still stood on the source of the excitement. Mazhe was standing on Harry's desk chair, while Harry was standing on his bed, the items he was preparing to pack into his trunk now scattered in all directions.

“Um, possessed literature, sir,” answered Harry, sheepishly.

“Oh. I see.” Tolfdir managed to suppress a laugh, and was gone. Harry let out a sigh.

“To Oblivion with this. Dobby?”

_Pop_. “Harry Potter sir call for Dobby?”

“Yeah. We... um... need a bit of help packing my trunk. The, uh, book gave us a bit of a start,” Harry explained, still feeling like an idiot.

“Dobby is pleased to help!” A snap of the little elf's fingers, and everything took on a mind of its own, folding itself, and stacking itself neatly in or beside Harry's trunk.

“Thanks, Dobby, you're the best!”

“Anything for Harry Potter, sir!”

“Will you be able to help him while he's at Hogwarts?” asked Mazhe.

“If that is what Harry Potter sir wants, Dobby would be honoured.”

“I think that would be brilliant. Is there something you can do, some place you can be so you won't look out of place?”

“Dobby is already working there now, Harry Potter sir. In the kitchens, with the rest of the elves.”

“You mean, there are house elves at Hogwarts?”

“Of course! Harry, who do you think cleans the castle, makes the meals, stuff like that?” Justin pointed out.

“Oh. I never really thought of it.”

Harry turned back to his little friend.

“All right then. It's great having an extra ally in the school.”

“Harry Potter sir just call on Dobby, and Dobby comes.”

“Excellent. I'll see you tonight then.” With an excited nod, the little elf vanished with a noisy _crack_.

“Is it just me, or is he a little mad?” said Mazhe.

“A little mad, yeah, I agree. Dobby's had a rough go of things though. I was thoroughly pissed to realize how badly he was being treated. It was a nice little method for getting back at the bastard.”

“Really though. Be careful, Harry. The Government's file on the Malfoys contains nothing good. They're downright dangerous,” Justin warned him.

“Yeah, I drew that conclusion the first time I met them. Doesn't mean I'll let either of them get away with trampling all over me or anyone else for that matter.”

* * *

At 10:30, the group went through the barrier onto platform nine and three-quarters.

“Harry!” Harry was spun around by Hermione, who gave him a warm hug.

“'lo, Hermione. Good summer?”

“For the most part. Oh. Let me introduce you to someone. This is Crookshanks.”

Hermione picked up a wire cage, inside of which was a ginger-haired cat. To Harry, its face looked like it had run itself repeatedly into a wall or something of the sort. He was careful not to laugh.

“He's lovely. When did you get him?”

“Mum and dad bought him as a late birthday gift a few days ago. I met Ron and his brothers in Diagon Alley while I was purchasing my school things.”

“Speak of the devil,” Harry grinned, shaking Ron's hand, “Good summer?”

“The best,” said Ron, eagerly, “Dad won a contest at work, so we spent most of the summer in Egypt with Bill, our oldest brother.”

“Bill works as a curse breaker for Gringotts,” said George, “Right scary job, what he tells us, but the pay is good.”

“No, Harry, you can't be a curse breaker,” said Mazhe, with a smirk.

“Aww, why not?” Harry smirked right back.

“Right, you guys better get on the train. Same as last year, I'll see you in a weeks' time,” Justin promised.

“I look forward to it.” The three of them embraced, and Mazhe gripped Justin's shoulder.

“See you soon.” They vanished with a noisy pop.

Harry boarded the train with his friends from Hogwarts. They took little time commandeering a compartment, although this one was already occupied by a lone individual. Fred, George, and Percy had gone off in a different direction, likely to join their year-mates, and in Percy's case, to head up to the prefect's compartment.

“Death warmed over,” Ron commented dryly, as they stowed their trunks out of the way.

“Ron!”

“Just saying...”

“It's not nice,” Hermione scolded.

However, Ron was quite right, if judging by the individual's appearance. He wore shabby robes, and looked deathly ill. He had mousy hair that was going unnaturally grey in places for his age, and numerous scars criss-crossed his face.

“Wonder who it is?”

“Our new Dark Arts Defence professor,” Harry answered, seeing the name stencilled on his satchel, “Remus J. Lupin.”

“How do you know that?”

“Lemme guess,” said Ron, “The government has a file on him.”

“Got it in one. At least this time he's got some sort of knowledge of the subject... did quite well apparently... though we'll see, I guess.”

Harry took a seat on the bench beside the professor, who appeared to be sleeping.

“Harry. Ron, Hermione,” Neville greeted, as he entered the compartment.

“Hi Neville. Good summer?”

“Yeah, brilliant.”

Neville put a hand over his robe pocket, pushing Trevor back inside.

“How come you don't get him a cage?” Harry suggested, gesturing to his friend's pocket.

“He might not like it.”

“Better than him getting lost. Just sayin', is all.”

“Well... I suppose. You got a new cat, Hermione?”

He spotted the ginger cat now resting on the young witch's lap.

“Got him this past weekend in Diagon Alley. This is Crookshanks.”

“He's already tried to eat Scabbers, twice,” Ron scowled.

“He's a rat, Ron, what do you expect?!”

“If you keep him in his cage, he'll be okay I'm sure,” said Harry, trying not to laugh, “I mean, I have seen Hedwig giving Scabbers some rather unhealthy attention as well.”

“The both of you are mental,” Ron raved.

Lupin let out a snort, but did not wake.

“Who's that?” Neville asked.

“Our new Dark Arts Defence professor,” said Harry.

“Hope he's better than last year.”

“Me too,” Harry agreed, “Though I'm still open to running the study group again, seeing how popular it was last year.”

“Out of necessity, Harry,” said Hermione, “Not that there's anything wrong with it.”

“Exactly. I do teach fully-grown wizards back at the college, so you guys are a piece of cake.”

“Hey, I resent that!” Ron cried in mock-protest. That resulted in a round of laughter.

The mood suddenly grew serious, as Ron brought up the subject of Sirius Black.

“Yeah, I know who he is, yes, I know he escaped,” Harry answered, really not wanting to discuss it.

“But you are going to be careful, right?” questioned Hermione.

“Hermione, I'm always careful, now that I know exactly what kind of institution Dumbledore is truly running. Honestly, had I known beforehand, I wouldn't have come. The Commonwealth would have been a much better fit in the long run, I think.”

“But... We wouldn't have met, either!” Hermione protested.

“That's true. You guys are probably the few reasons I really have in returning. Without you guys, I would tell Dumbledore to stuff it, even with the threat of losing my inheritance.”

That got a warm smile out of the witch.

“Seriously, though, I'm already learning far more than most of you are, because I have to. I know who I am, what I have to do. I can't say too much, other than I know why Voldemort came after me twelve years ago. Whatever happened then, he's not finished with me. Not by a long shot.”

“But you-know-who is gone, Harry,” Neville objected.

“For now. But not for good. As I said, I have more information than I can talk about. Loose lips sink ships and so on.”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“Everything I'm doing, is because of what I have to face in my future. I have to be ready.”

The compartment fell into silence for a while, the rain beating heavily on the windows now, as the train raced its way north. Remus Lupin barely moved, still sleeping heavily. Harry was again beginning to have doubts about the guy as a Dark Arts Defence professor. It looked like a strong gust of wind would carry the man away. It was like the man was sick. Sick from what though?

Harry let the gentle sway of the carriages soothe him into a half-sleep. Perhaps, maybe this year might still be better than last. Though, if he truly thought about it, the time at Hogwarts in itself wasn't really the problem—save for the lacklustre Defence Against The Dark Arts teachers. Professor McGonagall was brilliant, as was Professor Flitwick. Now that everyone had the basics under their belts, both classes were moving along a little more briskly, and if the text books were any indication, they were moving into more interesting territory.

Beginning that year, there were a bunch of electives open to them, and Harry had chosen Care of Magical Creatures, as well as Ancient Runes as his elective courses. He'd glanced at Divination, but Justin had shook his head, declaring it a useless subject. You either had it, or you didn't, simple as that.

Something was off. Something felt—a chill was coming over the compartment, and it pulled Harry out of his comfortable half-sleep.

“What is that?” he muttered, noting now he could see his breath. The train had come to a stop for some reason. “We can't be there yet.”

“No. Look... something's outside,” said Neville, pointing out the window. A shape had just drifted past the window, something akin to a ghost, except that it was not.

“What is it?”

“I dunno, nothing I've experienced before,” said Harry, drawing his wand and standing, “Get... get behind me.”

Something was definitely out in the corridor now, causing the lights in the compartment to flicker. It had gotten so cold, frost was beginning to form on the windows.

Then... the lights went out for good. Harry could hear shrieks and yelps from other parts of the carriage, as students reacted to the unexpected darkness. Harry flicked his free hand at the ceiling, and an orb of light stuck there, bathing the compartment in soft, white light.

“Stay behind me, I mean it.”

Harry could hear something else now, outside the compartment, giving slow, rattling breaths. Whatever it was, it wasn't friendly, and it was coming closer. Harry stowed his wand, and brought up both hands, erecting the strong magical ward Tolfdir had taught him—one of the first spells Harry learned to cast. A blue-ish shield bloomed from his hands, to stretch from floor to ceiling, becoming stronger as the seconds ticked by.

“Harry, what is it?”

“Shield ward. I... I dunno what's out there... just, stay behind me.”

The figure that glided up to the compartment stretched to the ceiling, wearing a ragged cloak, the hood obscuring its face. One of its hands was visible, however, and seeing it made Harry think of a Draugr. It was withered, slimy, decayed—exactly like a Draugr.

But Harry knew this was not a Draugr. The Draugr didn't cause the room temperature to plunge to near-freezing. Whatever this was, it was something worse. The hand had reached out, and was opening the door... Harry could feel the immense cold, seeping into his very soul, and the shield he had produced vanished, as he succumbed to the darkness. The last thing he remembered, were terrified, pleading screams.

“Harry? Are you all right?”

Someone was gently shaking him.

“'m fine... just...” Harry dared open his eyes, and found the compartment once again alight with the lamps. He was laying splayed out on the floor, with the others around him, including the now very much awake Remus Lupin. Ron offered a hand to get him up off the floor.

“Thanks, mate. What... what was that?”

Harry sat down heavily, feeling a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. He still felt slightly cold, and unsettled. Professor Lupin was breaking a large slab of chocolate into small pieces.

“Here,” he said, “Have this, it'll help.”

“Err... thanks.” Harry accepted the chocolate, and took a bite. It was semi-sweet, but seemed to be perfect for the situation.

“What... what was that thing?” he asked again.

“A Dementor,” answered Lupin, as he passed pieces of chocolate to others, “A guardian of Azkaban. Eat, it'll help. I, meanwhile, need to go have a word with the driver.” He stood up, and left the compartment.

“Shor's balls, another year starts off in chaos,” Harry muttered, as he snatched another piece of chocolate from the pile Lupin had left on the seat.

Harry still didn't feel the greatest when the train at last arrived in Hogsmeade. The sight of Hagrid, however, did lift his spirits somewhat. More friendly faces and a bit of normalcy was about right, given what he had just experienced. The entire evening, for the most part, was somewhat in a haze, as though the Dementor had left a lingering presence behind. Not even consuming a healing potion had really done a whole lot. If anything, the chocolate had a better effect.

They had all had a lengthy discussion about what had happened, but it was all peculiar. Why would such vile creatures be allowed on a train load of young children?! A letter would be dispatched in the morning, Harry decided, but for now, a good night's rest was in order.

* * *

The first day of lessons introduced two new classes for Harry: Ancient runes in the morning, and Care of Magical Creatures as last class in the afternoon. Harry found Ancient Runes to be fascinating, as he could easily think back to some of the things he had learned in Skyrim—the Nordic culture there was reflected so strongly on Norse culture in his own world. It was a broader understanding of some truly complicated magic, something that would be truly useful later on.

Care of Magical Creatures, on the other hand, was chosen as something of self-interest, although he had no idea Hagrid would be taking the post. It just fit, he thought, given the man's interest in such things. It was the last course of the day, and it felt good to be outside in the warm afternoon sun.

Unfortunately, the fun was somewhat ruined by the fact Malfoy and his cronies had also taken the course. As if Harry didn't have to put up with the blond ponce's irritating presence enough, this would be hell. It was well known how little Malfoy respected Hagrid.

It went down hill from there. Hagrid introduced them to Hippogriffs, of all things. True, they were spectacular animals, but downright dangerous to introduce in the first lesson. Still, Harry had readily participated in the lesson, and somewhat enjoyed the flight on the back of the immense beast. Certainly not as comfortable as riding on a broom, but something he would do again if given the chance.

The rest of the class climbed into the paddock, and for a while, things went rather smoothly. At least, until Malfoy went too far, while patting the nose of one of the animals.

"This is very easy," he drawled, loud enough for Harry to hear him. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it... I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said to the Hippogriff. "Are you, you—"

BANG! Harry's well-placed banishing hex sent the boy cartwheeling across the paddock, while Hagrid quickly got control of the Hippogriff, whom he had called Buckbeak.

“Are you truly that daft?!” Harry snarled, storming over to the blond, “It could have cut you down where you stood.”

“I'll—I'll have you expelled for this, Potter!” Malfoy roared, storming back to his feet. “Wait 'till my _father_ hears about this!”

The other Slytherins had already raised their wands, and spell-fire lit up the paddock. Needless to say, a bucket full of house points were lost on both sides, and a weeks' detentions were handed out in the end. It furthered Harry and Draco's animosity toward one another, but as far as the lesson had went, nothing further would come of it.(1)

* * *

Unlike the previous two years, it became evident right from the start, that the Dark Arts Defence professor was more than up to scratch this time around. There was not one word of dissent amongst those who truly mattered regarding the subject. Oh, sure, the Slytherins had loads to say, and none of it nice, but in Harry's book, their opinion didn't count for anything.

His first lesson had been about something called a Boggart, a foul shape-shifter which took the form of its victim's darkest fears. It's something Harry had not thought all that much about up to this point, but the foul entity was only too happy to show him.

The entire class had been taken to the staffroom, where there stood a single wardrobe, quivering and rattling ominously. Then, each of them faced the thing in the wardrobe, beginning with Neville. Professor Snape was rather comical, wearing a woman's clothes. Not that he would ever tell him, of course. The man was sour at the best of times, and as of late, particularly vicious, likely considering what had happened a few days prior in Care of Magical Creatures.

The class moved on, with each of them facing the Boggart. Ron's was, as expected, a giant spider (whose feet were suddenly bound in roller skates, most comical). Seamus and his Banshee (who suddenly lost its voice). The list kept going, until...

“NO!” It was a shriek, as Harry's knees went weak at the figure who lay prone on the floor.

“Harry...”

“ _R-riddikulus_ ,” Harry tried. He barely heard his classmates muttering and whispering behind him.

“ _Riddikulus_!” Harry whimpered again.

_Crack_! The shape shifted from dead Mazhe, to dead Justin. He felt dead inside, the crushing, horrible weight of being truly alone. “N-n-no...”

“ _Riddikulus_!” Lupin spoke, firmly, standing in between Harry and the Boggart.

_Crack_! For a few moments, there hung in the air what looked like a silvery orb.

“ _Riddikulus_ ,” Lupin spoke again, and gave a hearty laugh, causing the orb to seemingly explode into a thousand tiny shreds and vanish.

“Well done, everyone. Everyone who successfully tackled the Boggart take five points each. An excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on Boggarts and summarize it for me...to be handed in on Monday. That will be all—Harry, if you will stay behind, please.”

Harry watched as everyone filed out, leaving him behind with the professor.

“A truly frightful thing, to be left bereft of those you have known and cared for for so long.”

“It... it was, sir,” Harry answered, quietly, still out of sorts from what he'd just been treated to.

“Even though it wasn't real, I can truly appreciate what you felt like. Harry, I knew your parents.”

Harry looked the professor in the eye.

“So did Professor McGonagall, and—”

“I knew your mother and father quite personally. We went to school together.”

“Oh. Well... I guess that's different.”

“It is. Your mother and your father couldn't have been two more honourable people. From some of the things I hear, you are turning out to be similar in many ways.”

“But not all, am I right?”

“Professor Dumbledore is worried.”

“Worried that I won't be his little soldier, his tool. Professor, that's all he wants. I hope you're speaking to me because of what _you_ want, rather than what he does.”

For once, Harry was glad to feel the anger surge up inside him, to replace the crushing sorrow that had held him in its grip since his bout with the Boggart.

“Harry, I find that rather offensive that you would make that sort of assumption.”

“S-sorry. I honestly don't have a lot of trust in the headmaster at this point. He's tried to Obliviate me once, did he tell you that?”

Lupin gave Harry a furious look.

“Did he now?”

“At the end of first year. He called me into his office. Now—” he looked up, and seeing the door to the staffroom was still open, gave a gesture with his hand, causing it to shut. “See, the Commonwealth had my relatives carted off to jail by the non-magical authorities when I was six years old. So I get called up to his office, and he tells me I have to go back to them. So he admitted there and then, he had somehow broken them out of jail... likely used memory charms on those involved... just so I would be put back in that miserable environment. If the man thinks I would just willingly go back to such a place, he is truly mad.”

“This is truly disturbing, Harry. Those are some pretty strong accusations.”

“You have no idea. Then last year, he again tried to get me put back with the Dursleys. He somehow got my current guardians to write a letter releasing me to his care. The Ministry of Justice is still seriously considering levelling charges on him for that—meddling with a ward of the crown and all that. Thing is, the headmaster's not this lily-white saint everyone paints him to be. He'll sell my soul to the devil if it advances his cause for the _Greater Good_...” Harry put air brackets around the phrase 'greater good'.

Lupin snarled in his own head. How dare he. If James and Lily were still alive, they would likely draw and quarter the old man—or at least hex him rather painfully. He calmed himself.

“You have been raised in the Commonwealth. They see to your needs?”

“More than, yes,” answered Harry. “My best friend... he was... he was the first, uh...”

“I know, go on.”

“He's a few years older than me, but... if I wasn't here, I would be in class with him, back in the... there's a place the Commonwealth sent me to just after they rescued me from the Dursleys. Their magic is a little different than ours, but compatible.”

“I've been meaning to ask you about the spell you used on the train.”

“You mean this one.” Harry again pressed his hands out in front of him, calling up the ward spell. It was somewhat weaker than it had been on the train, even after charging it up. The shock from a few minutes prior was still prevalent.

“A rather different shield charm, I say.”

“One of the first spells I learned at the College of Winterhold. I've been learning about magic since I was six—though not being allowed to actually practice until I was eight.”

“Harry, I truly shudder at the kind of power you may wield one day.”

“I don't aim to be the most powerful wizard alive, I just want to be sure that I can protect myself and those I care about. I guess... what just happened... was a bit of a reminder.” The shield vanished.

“Indeed, life does have a way of throwing rather humbling things at you. Now. You understand at this point, that the shield you know how to produce will not work against a Dementor.”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, I sort of figured that, Professor.”

“There is, however, a charm which most certainly _will_ drive away a Dementor. Understand, Harry, this is truly advanced magic, the sort which many adult witches and wizards have trouble with. _Expecto Patronum_.”

A wave of light shimmered out of Lupin's extended wand, bathing the room in a bluish light.

“Expecto Patronum,” Harry repeated.

“Yes. I offer to teach you this charm, but I again remind you, it is truly advanced magic. Don't berate yourself if you can't pull it off.” The light vanished.

“I'll give it my best.”

“And that's all I expect. Now it's best we be off to dinner, wouldn't want to keep you away from your friends for too long.”

* * *

The Halloween feast had been amazing, lasting well into the evening. Given the seriousness of things just outside the castle walls, Harry was finding it difficult to relax, ever since the train ride, as a matter of fact. Dementors prowling just outside the school grounds! The Commonwealth had loads to say about it, but given they weren't in charge of Hogwarts, nothing changed.

So, needless to say, a little bit of fun was exactly what he had needed at this point—and it certainly carried with them back to the Gryffindor common room. In fact, it was very late before the tower settled down. Harry didn't remember when he finally went to sleep.

Sometime before dawn, he awoke to an odd noise coming from nearby. Cracking open an eye, he barely made out a shadowy figure looming over his friend's bed.

KAWHACK!

Whoever it was fell to the floor, moaning, clutching his right side in agony, a thick icy projectile still embedded there. A crude knife clattered to the floor and rolled under Seamus' bed.

“Wha's goin' on?” Ron mumbled, the noise having woken him. Harry said nothing, but flung a hand at the ceiling, bathing the room in a soft glow.

“Harry—who's that?” Dean Thomas was equally startled awake by the noise.

“Go fetch Professor McGonagall right away,” Harry decided, quickly collecting his wand.

The man was still collapsed on the floor in a heap, rocking back and forth with the severity of the projectile still lodged in his side. Dean looked nervously at the man, but quickly obeyed Harry's instructions. It was pretty much accepted at this point, Harry was the leader of their year, and usually he didn't ask someone to do something without a good reason. This looked like a damned good reason.

Harry, meanwhile, brandished his wand at the man.

“Wait. You're... you're Sirius Black!” Ron stammered.

At once, he felt Scabbers trying to escape from his pocket.

“The... your rat...” Sirius muttered, “Disguise... Pettigrew...”

“What? He's been... OW! He bit me!” Ron howled, as the rat jumped up onto the bed.

Harry, of course, had a suspicion of what might be going on, and a sharp gesture of his hand snared the rat, and it flew across the room to his outstretched hand.

“Stun him, Harry,” Sirius said, his voice barely a whisper, “I have all the answers you'll need.”

Harry obliged, but still held his wand on the man.

“Start talking. I'm sure Professor McGonagall's on her way, likely along with Dumbledore,” said Harry, dangerously.

“It was Peter Pettigrew... who betrayed your parents. Not me. I was meant as a decoy.”

“And this rat is Pettigrew? How?”

“His Animagus form is a rat,” Sirius answered, “If I had a wand, I could force him to change back.”

“Harry no,” said Ron, shaking his head vigorously.

“Forgive me if I don't trust you,” said Harry, a little softer.

He gestured at the ice spike buried in the man's side, and vanished it.

“Here. Healing potion. Drink it, it'll fix the injury.”

“Thank you.” Sirius consumed the potion, and looked momentarily surprised. “A potion that doesn't taste disgusting.”

“I make potions differently. So tell me, Mr. Black. What really happened the night my parents died?”

“Yes, indeed, a story I would love to hear as well, Black.”

Everyone's head swivelled to find Professor McGonagall standing in the doorway to the dormitory in her nightdress, her hair let down, and her face looking severe as ever.

“How is it you came to be in the dormitory in the first place?”

“I do have a way with the Fat Lady, professor,” answered Sirius, as he sat up.

“Before I tell this story, however, I think it's time Peter Pettigrew showed himself.”

Sirius indicated the still-stunned rat laying on the foot of Ron's bed.

“If you would cast the Animagus reversal charm, Professor.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips again, but drew her wand, and gestured at the rat.

“ _Animagus Reversus_.”(2)

A flash of blue-white light bloomed from the end of her wand, to impact with the stunned rat. It was followed by a second bang, and within seconds, in place of a rat, lay a prone, rather pudgy man. Harry guessed him to be about his own height, if shorter, with a rather prominent bald spot. His features were still rat-like—he wondered if that was due to his Animagus form, or something else. Harry thrust a hand at the door, sealing it shut.

“You mind waking him, Professor?”

“ _Rennervate_ ,” Professor McGonagall spoke, and the dumpy rat-turned-wizard spasmed as he woke up.

“H-h-harry,” he stuttered, his eyes at last locking with Harry's. He looked around, and instantly knew, he was in deep trouble.

“S-sirius, old—friend...”

“Hello, Peter, good of you to join us,” answered Sirius, dangerously.

Four wands were now being pointed at the dumpy wizard, while Harry helped Sirius to his feet.

“Some things aren't always what they _seem_ to be,” Harry muttered. “ _SOOO_... Tell us, Peter. What happened the night my parents were killed?”

It was quite the eye-opener, as the two former friends fought with each other (verbally, at least). Harry, however, had pretty much made up his mind at this point: Sirius Black was an innocent man. Peter Pettigrew was the proof. The man was supposed to be dead, supposedly murdered by Sirius in non-magical London. It was truly a grand deception, and just looking at Pettigrew, Harry was ready to kill him right there and then.

He knew better than to do so. The British Ministry of Magic needed to hear the tale as well, hopefully while Pettigrew was under the effects of a powerful truth serum. Equally, the Commonwealth needed to know what was going on. As they continued to talk about things, Harry was already penning a letter to Alice. Knowing how quickly the Commonwealth worked, he would be quite surprised if representatives from the government didn't arrive at the school sometime that day.

Shortly after the sun rose, Dumbledore appeared in the dormitory, and things somewhat wrapped up. Given the extraordinary events, all five occupants of the dormitory were given the morning off, so they might get a bit of rest, all considered.

Harry, however, insisted on going at least up to the headmaster's office to see Sirius off to the Ministry. Dumbledore objected, but McGonagall thought it was perfectly acceptable, and so the headmaster reluctantly allowed it. Pettigrew was already firmly bound in heavy manacles which were charmed to prevent Animagus transformations. Naturally, he protested and pleaded all the way up to the office, trying to play on Harry's feelings and the like.

That had no bearing on what Harry thought of the man. Pettigrew had betrayed his parents—and Harry himself—in a most spectacular manner. He had then proceeded to frame Sirius for the deed, resulting in the man being locked away in a truly terrible place for twelve years. It was unforgivable.

The group stepped into Dumbledore's office, and quickly realized they weren't alone. Amelia Bones was there, along with four Aurors. Harry remembered seeing two of them the year before, when they dealt with Lockhart (who by this point was a long-term resident of Azkaban). They were joined by Will and Alice, as well as the Commonwealth's Minister of Justice, and two Aurors of their own.

“Good day, Professor,” said Madam Bones, gravely, “It seems we have a spot of bad business.”

“It does look that way,” said Dumbledore.

This was not good. How was it the foreign Ministry was already aware of the situation? Without them there, it would have been quite simple to fix things. With them present, his hastily-formed plans went up in flames.

“Harry, good to see you again,” said Alice, as they shook hands. “I'd like you to meet Nathan Blake, our Minister for Justice.”

“Pleasure, sir,” said Harry, and there was another round of handshakes.

“I believe there is business here,” said Nathan, “Now whether it's bad or not, that remains to be seen. Mr. Black, I presume.”

“Er... yes,” answered Sirius, uncertain of who they were exactly.

“I believe it would be in everyone's best interest if we might take this somewhere where we might be a bit more comfortable,” said Nathan.

“We would actually like to take this back to the Ministry,” said Madam Bones.

“With due respect, Madam Bones, the matter at hand concerns your Ministry,” said Alice, “And since this also involves her majesty's ward, it most definitely involves the Commonwealth of Valicadia.”

“I... very well, Miss Wheeler, your concerns are most certainly well-founded.”

“If you would give me a minutes' time, I believe I might be able to reorganize the room,” said Dumbledore.

He drew his wand, and twirled it in the air, making gestures at several objects in his office. They began to move on their own accord, and take on new shapes, namely a large table and a number of chairs that properly suited a conference room. The entire process took less than a minute.

“Thank you, Professor,” said Harry. He did not trust the man, but he most certainly respected the power the man possessed. It was truly some advanced transfiguration at play.

Peter Pettigrew was bound to one of the chairs immediately, and everyone else took seats.

“Professor, I think I would like Mr. Pettigrew questioned while under truth serum,” Harry decided. Both Nathan and the Aurors who were with him looked impressed. Dumbledore, meanwhile, looked even more defeated.

Amelia Bones, however, couldn't agree more. The Ministry was already looking foolish with the fiasco as it was. An innocent man sent to Azkaban? Scandalous! Heads would roll, if she had her way about it.

“Professor McGonagall, would you mind sending for Professor Snape?” Madam Bones asked, “I believe he may have the sort of potion we need. Have him bring along an antidote as well, just so we cross our T's and dot our I's.”

“I'll send for him straight away.”

“Is this truly necessary?” Dumbledore asked, appearing weary.

“How is that this sort of thing has happened in the first place, headmaster? You are Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, are you not?”

“You have to understand, Miss Wheeler, immediately following the fall of Voldemort, our world was in disarray. Surly, you do remember the days and weeks immediately following.”

“A fair argument, it was certainly not our greatest moment,” Madam Bones agreed, “I still fear for those who may be languishing in Azkaban without any charges, mind a trial. So help me, Albus...”

“It is fair to say, an enquiry may be necessary.”

“Beyond necessary,” Harry muttered, then added, hastily, “sir.”

“I might remind you that you are only a guest here—“ Dumbledore began.

“Excuse me. Mr. Potter is more than a guest, as you say. He has every right to be involved in this, considering this entire mess centres around him in the first place!” Alice roared. “You've crossed the line several times already when it comes to his affairs, you keep it up it'll be you facing an enquiry.”

“What sort of line?” Madam Bones asked, giving Dumbledore a hard look.

“Let's not get into that mess,” said Harry, “This nonsense is enough as it is. Shor's balls, I really regret agreeing to come here.”

That got a shocked look out of Sirius.

“Why would you say that, Harry?”

“Really don't want to get into it. But I'm sure Alice will fill you in long before I get a chance to.”

Professor Snape arrived shortly after, bringing with him a tiny bottle filled with a clear liquid: Veritaserum. Dosed with three drops of the potion, Pettigrew was asked some very pointed questions, while dicta-quills recorded the answers on parchment. Those answers more than vindicated Sirius Black of all wrong-doing with regard to Harry and his parents. The opposite extreme, it lay the root of all Harry's misery at the feet of the rat.

“Well. Peter, I hope you're happy. You destroyed not one, but three—if not four lives,” said Harry, his features darkening. “Without you, my parents might still be alive. Without you, Sirius wouldn't have been left to rot for twelve years in Azkaban. And without you, 'I' wouldn't have been left to rot at the Dursleys for nearly six years.”

Harry leaned across the table, and horked a big gob of spit on the dumpy wizard.

“ _Tahrodiis mey! Aav Dilon_!”(3)

“Harry!”

“Mr. Potter...”

“What?! He deserves no better. I'm about ready to murder him where he sits.”

“So am I, kiddo, but that will only get you in trouble yourself,” said Sirius, softly.

One of the Commonwealth Aurors showed a little bit of compassion, and spelled the spit off the traitor's face.

“Thank you,” Peter mumbled, but the Auror gave him a tragic look.

“Don't thank me, Mr. Pettigrew, we still haven't decided what we're gonna do with you yet.”

“Feed him to the Dementors,” said Harry, sourly, “You have his statements, better to be done with him, make sure he can't come back again, that sort of thing.”

“Yes and on the issue of Dementors,” said Dumbledore, “Since they are no longer needed to be on the lookout for Mr. Black, they are to be removed from the grounds at the earliest convenience.”

“If I might borrow your fireplace for a moment then, Professor.”

“As far as Mr. Pettigrew goes, I disagree with turning him over to a Dementor, at least for now,” said Nathan, “No matter what is said here, the man is still entitled to a trial, is he not? At least give him something that wasn't afforded Mr. Black here.”

“That is fair, I believe,” Alice agreed, “We don't need to be setting double standards.”

“I guess,” said Harry.

“We still have him, the trial is but a formality at this point,” said one of the British Aurors, a rather tall, dark-skinned wizard, who spoke with a deep, booming voice. “As for Mr. Black, we do require he come with us to the Ministry to sign off on a bit of paperwork.”

“After which, we would be interested in meeting with him,” said Nathan.

“And if it is okay with Mr. Black, we would be willing to tag along with him to the Ministry to settle affairs,” said Alice.

She looked at Harry.

“Harry, if you would like, you're welcome to come along as well.”

“That's not possible,” said Dumbledore, perhaps a little more harshly than he'd meant, as it had everyone at the table scowling.

“And why not, headmaster? Given I am one of two caseworkers assigned Mr. Potter's file, you can be assured I do have the authority to act as a parent or guardian. And, given Mr. Black seems to have been given the title of godfather as he mentioned earlier in our conversation, Harry has every right to be a part of this process, whether you approve of it or not.”

“This is nasty business as it is,” said Harry, “But we could make it even messier, headmaster. I still haven't forgotten about last spring... or the spring before that--”

“Very well, Harry. If you so wish to attend to these rather difficult proceedings, then so be it,” said Dumbledore, once again irritated. The glorious plan he'd hatched over the summer had been completely shredded, and now there was no hope in putting things back together. A bell could not be un-rung, even with a certain device he was well aware of.

“I'll be sure to notify Potter's afternoon teachers,” said McGonagall. She wondered exactly what Potter meant by 'Last spring' and 'the spring before that'. What had Albus done now?

* * *

The remainder of the fall term became rather interesting, as several different parties entered regular contact, much to Dumbledore's chagrin. Peter Pettigrew's hearing lasted a half-hour at best, with the man being sentenced to a life term in Azkaban, being found guilty of being a Death Eater, betraying Harry's parents, and framing Sirius Black. Rumour was, that ironically, the rat now occupied the same cell Sirius had.

Sirius was in frequent contact with Harry through the owl post, as the pair got to know each other. After all, had things happened as they should have, he would have assumed the role of a parent, being Harry's godfather. Sirius had not come right out and asked it, and at this point, Harry was unsure what to think. Did he need someone to take an active role as a parent?

The honest answer, no. Harry was far to independent at this point. No, the big thing Harry needed were allies, people willing to stand beside him and behind him. Honestly, he already had people in those sort of roles.

At the same time, he certainly wouldn't push Sirius away, no more than he would Lupin. He had known Harry's parents, too, and equally, had been one of Sirius' best friends—until the night Voldemort killed Harry's parents. Then, it was a web of lies and deceit. A good number of tears were shed between grown men when they at last met, and all was forgiven. Now the question was, what sort of support could he count on from them?

* * *

_19 December, 2003_

The welcoming party had expanded by one when Harry stepped off the train back in London. Sirius was standing with Justin, Mazhe, Alice, and Will. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there as well, although the two groups did not mingle.

“Harry... Gods, you can't win for losing, it seems,” said Mazhe, as the pair embraced.

“I'm cursed, that's all there is to it.”

“Cursed?” Sirius gave Harry a pained look.

“Magnet for trouble, is what he means. I guess you guys have met?” Harry asked, as he gave Mazhe a one-armed embrace.

“Of course, kiddo. I would say let's head back to the house, but it's in no condition for visitors.”

“The original plan was to head back to the College of Winterhold,” said Mazhe.

“Still is. We've already had the access list modified for the fireplace. We'll still need to take a port key to Trevelyan.”

“And you'll be coming to visit the Burrow after Christmas, right?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, for sure. I'll be keeping my visit back to the College short this holiday, got some catching up to do and all.”

“Yes, and don't forget about the Christmas party on Monday. You should all have invitations,” said Alice.

Harry cast a glance at Mazhe.

“You won't be missed if you stick around?”

“No. I let Farengar know I would be likely spending a few weeks away, so he's not expecting me back until the middle of Sun's Dawn.”

“Sun's Dawn?” Sirius was confused.

“Err... the middle of January,” Harry clarified, “They have the same number of months and so on, but the names are different.”

“That must've taken some time to get straight.”

“No, not really. Sirius, I was six years old when I landed in Skyrim. I lived there for five years, I've pretty much grew up there.”

“And he met me. It was nice to have someone around my own age,” said Mazhe, “He's sorely missed.”

“Sorry I can't be there very much anymore. But... I guess this sort of thing was only a matter of time—never mind a certain meddling old man.”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded.

“What, it's true. Really though, we'd best get going. I'll see the lot of you in a few days.”

A few minutes later, they gathered in the room they used as a classroom in the Hall of Attainment. A call for Dobby had a platter of treats and a tea service provided on short notice.

“Professor Dumbledore is not a very happy man these days,” said Sirius, as he took a seat, and began to fix himself a cup of tea. “I caught him once with his wand out, about to point it at me. Minerva happened to walk in before he could do whatever it was he was about to do, but it's worrisome.”

“I did mention he tried to Obliviate me at the end of first year. What's he afraid of?”

“You, Harry,” answered Justin, “Dumbledore is afraid you might upset his hold on his positions of power. You've been raised away from his influence, and now by freeing Sirius, you've cut one more potential avenue of control he might have had over you.”

“He's now asking me—nearly demanding access to my house. He says he wants to use it as a headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Who are they?” Mazhe asked.

“An organization put together back during the first reign of Voldemort. It was created to openly fight him and so on. I was a member, Harry's parents were members, along with loads of others.”

“And Dumbledore was its head.”

“Still is, Harry. He's not actually began to recall people yet, but he says he wants to be ready, wants to have that option open.”

“Has the government reinstated all your assets and so on?” Will asked.

“Everything. Though my vaults were never frozen by the bank. Seems the goblins knew more about my lack of guilt than the Ministry did. I was actually thinking of disposing of the house, it's not in livable condition as it is, and quite frankly, it has too many nasty memories.”

“My advice would be to do so. And if you wish, you could most certainly emigrate to the Commonwealth. I'm sure Harry would appreciate having an extra ally close to home.”

“What do you want, Harry?”

“I would like that very much,” Harry decided, “And... and Professor Lupin, too. Y'know, he's the sort of teacher we should have had from day one.”

“He was the smart one of the group,” said Sirius, “Professor McGonagall made him a prefect to try and keep a lid on your father and I. Little did she know, he was at many times the master-mind of things.”

“What sort of things?” Mazhe looked confused.

“Remember the time Enthir had trouble speaking without sounding like--”

“Oh, when he was talking in that really bad, high-pitched squeaky voice? You did that?”

“I did say I would pay him back for all the merciless teasing he did.”

“Gods, that was bordering on hysterical. He certainly respects you now.”

“Well, he's always respected me, I think. Being able to produce a ward shield before I was seven, right. He just liked to rattle my cage, and now he knows I can rattle his right back.”

Harry gave a little smirk.

“Dad, Sirius, Professor Lupin, and someone-I-will-not-name were pranksters when they went to school.”

“Still are, pup,” Sirius laughed. He smirked at Harry.

“So what other pranks have you got up to?”

“Well, there was the tongue-tying jinx I cast on Mazhe.”

“And he didn't know how to cancel it,” Mazhe muttered, “It wasn't funny.”

“Not at the time... but I was experimenting.”

“Yes, and it was the afternoon before Justin could reverse it. Gods...”

“Question is, where did you learn of such things?”

“That book by Vindictus Viridian.”

“Ah, of course. Should have known,” Sirius smirked.

* * *

December 22 saw the group attend a Christmas party, which was held at the Fox Theatre. The event was split up into two parts: a movie and music in the auditorium, and a reception which lasted until evening in the lobby. The movie of choice: _National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation_. As had been the case two years prior, a number of other children and families being seen to by the ministry had also been invited.

The group spent the night in the private government suite, and attended the holiday celebration the following evening, this time featuring a large symphony orchestra, which not only filled the orchestra pit, but part of the stage as well. Joined with the massive theatre organ, it was as magical as the previous years' show.

* * *

That Christmas was perhaps his best yet, bolstered by two new allies: Sirius and Remus. The three of them had a lengthy discussion about what Harry wanted, and he welcomed the support of his Godfather. A visit to the Ministry made it official in that Sirius became Harry's official guardian—though Will made it very clear the Commonwealth would not be going away any time soon. Sirius, having been filled in on the mess of things thus far on the count of the English ministry, was more than happy to have the Commonwealth's continued support.

The best Christmas gift he got that year came from Sirius: a brand new Firebolt racing broom. Harry did like to fly, but up to this point had not bothered to purchase a broom for himself. From there, however, he was on it at least once a day.

During his visit to the Burrow the day after Christmas, Ron was green with envy as Harry showed off the new broom. It resulted in an impromptu Quidditch game in the paddock. Harry proved to be more than adept at the game, switching between chaser and seeker. Fred and George were more than impressed at how quickly he was able to track and catch the elusive snitch.

His return to the College of Winterhold was equally interesting, as he took to the air for the first time and saw the place where he grew up from a completely different angle. He actually drew attention of the wrong sort flying over the town of Winterhold itself, as several of the town guard actually started shooting arrows at him, startled by the strange occurrence. It took him landing on the bridge up to the college and walking back down to the town proper before the guards stood down from their defensive posture. They also lectured Harry on his 'odd' behaviour. Naturally, that wasn't the first time he'd been in trouble with the town guards.

A second highlight for Harry was taking his best friend for a ride on his broom. Mazhe had been astounded, seeing the world from the air for the first time. Their flight was much longer, lasting for several hours, as they toured places they'd visited on foot, travelling as far east as a ruin known as _Snow Veil Sanctum_ —a Nordic ruin neither of them had been able to get into (the door had some sort of locking mechanism which was impervious to all known lockpicking methods, magical or not).

* * *

In late March, Harry at last had a breakthrough with the Patronus charm. The Dementors had long since been removed from the school grounds, but Harry insisted on learning the charm anyway, knowing all too well he was a magnet for trouble. It was likely not the last time he would face the horrible things, so better be safe than sorry.

It had been his thoughts of his two close friends—Mazhe, his best friend, and Justin, a very close second. Teacher, protector at times, and friend. Their faces provided the emotion needed.

A Dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him—

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Harry commanded, feeling a well of confidence flare from inside him, powered by the strong group of memories racing before his mind's eye. And this time, rather than the fuzzy, clouded mist he'd been able to conjure up to this point, a painfully bright silver animal exploded from the tip of his wand.

“ _Prongs_ ,” he heard Lupin whisper, as the animal stormed at the Boggart-Dementor, and it swooped away. It wasn't a horse. It had antlers... a deer? A stag. An enormous stag was bounding around the room, chasing the horrid cloaked thing.

_Crack_! The Boggart again shifted into a silvery orb, and as the Patronus vanished, Harry got a closer look at the orb. It wasn't an orb at all, but... wait. Those absences, covered by Snape were always on or near... and Remus always looked so shabby during those days up to and immediately after.

“You go through a change on the night of a full moon,” said Harry, bluntly.

“You figured it out.”

“It finally clicked,” answered Harry, as Remus forced the Boggart back into its chest. “You're always missing for a couple of days during the full moon. You're always underweight, you look sickly... and the scars. It just took me until now to realize it.”

“Does it worry you?”

“Why would it? I come from a place where there are things a lot scarier than werewolves. Though they... what I'm told, they can change at will, it's something like an Animagus form. But lycanthropy here is a disease. You can't control your transformation.”

“Professor Snape has been providing me with wolfsbane potions while I have been here as a teacher.”

“I wondered what that was.”

“It helps me to retain my own mind even while transformed, and it somewhat eases the symptoms.”

Remus looped apprehensively at Harry.

“Being a werewolf makes it very difficult for me to remain in employment.”

“I won't tell a soul. You have my word,” Harry promised.

“Your mother and father would be very proud of you, Harry. And so am I.”

“Thanks, Professor.”

“Now, it's just about curfew. I'll walk you back up to Gryffindor tower so you don't run afoul of the prefects.”

* * *

April 2nd brought yet another surprise for Harry, this one from the Weasley Twins. He happened to walk by a particular statue of a humpbacked one-eyed witch, when it miraculously opened, and the pair climbed out of it. Harry smirked, knowing the pair were likely up to mischief again.

“Harry,” said one twin.

“Just the man we were looking for,” said the other.

“What can I do for you guys?”

“Well, the school year isn't over for another couple of months yet.”

“But, we also know that you don't exactly look forward to the inevitable invite up to the headmaster's office the day the Hogwarts Express leaves,” finished the other. It was like a tennis match, listening to them talk.

“What are you guys getting at?”

“Seeing you have the need to avoid certain people,”

“Like Professor Snape...”

“Or Professor Dumbledore...”

“We thought it might be time to share with you...”

“The secret of our success.”

“Yeah, the secret to avoiding people...”

“Or finding people...”

“Guys...” Harry said, growing impatient.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Forge, if you will.”

“Right away, Gred.” George pulled a folded parchment from his robes.

“Now the trick is, to tap it with your wand, like so--” George touched the parchment with his wand, and spoke, “ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_.”

Harry watched in amazement, as the parchment began to fill up, ink spreading like a spider's web. And then, curly green writing began to appear:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_  
 _Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_  
 _are proud to present_  
 _THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

It was a truly astounding piece of magic, as it showed the entire castle, and most of the grounds in great detail. Even more astounding, were the little ink dots that seemed to be moving about, and on closer inspection, each had a tiny label attached to it. Harry could easily see Professor Snape in his quarters several floors below... and Professor Dumbledore, pacing in his office—wait, along with the Minister of Magic?

“This is wicked,” Harry finally said, “Where did you guys find it?”

“In Filch's office,” said Fred.

“Back when we were ickle firsties,” George finished.

“Nicked it during detention one night.”

“So... the most important thing, is this--” George pointed to the spot where they happened to be standing. Harry could see all three names. What was more interesting, however, was the strange passage that seemed to lead away from the statue. He traced it with a finger.

“Hogsmeade.”

“Right in one, Harry,” said George.

“This one takes you right into Honeydukes.”

“This is brilliant, guys. Look, if you ever need anything... I'm in your debt.”

“We'll keep that in mind,” said Fred, cheerily.

“Oh, one last thing. To close it, you tap the map again, like so--” George tapped the map with his wand, “and say, _mischief managed_!” As he did, the ink seemed to vanish from the parchment, leaving it completely blank.

“Otherwise,” Fred finished, “Anyone can read the map. Wouldn't want a teacher to confiscate it now would we?”

“Or Moony,” Harry grinned.

“Moony?”

“You already know him. And Padfoot, and Prongs. You can call me Son of Prongs, though,” Harry grinned again.

Both twins' eyes went wide.

“You're pulling our leg!” George exclaimed.

“I swear it.”

“Son of Prongs?”

“Prongs, junior sounds better,” said Fred, still grinning.

Harry could only smirk, as the three of them returned to Gryffindor tower. Gods, the mischief he could cause with such an artefact. It was most unfortunate he couldn't share it with Sirius, knowing he would likely mention it to Remus... and given Remus was a teacher, the map would be confiscated in a heartbeat. Perhaps during the summer then. It would be interesting to understand how the map was made, and given he now knew two of those who created it, they would likely be quite willing to share.

* * *

The remainder of the term passed relatively quickly, and all too soon, Harry was saying good bye to his friends. There would be no visiting the headmaster this year, no matter what the old man wanted. He had already sent a note to Justin, and they agreed to meet him at the Three Broomsticks the following morning.

His final exam scores had been more than acceptable, save for History of Magic. Having a ghost for a teacher was terribly distracting, and in most cases put the class to sleep, droning on about Goblin wars and other nonsense. Of all his classes, it was his only failing grade, although not by much.

Hermione, naturally, was a little put-out that Harry wouldn't be riding the train back to London with them.

“But it's tradition,” she exclaimed, “We HAVE to take the train back.”

“Hermione, I know it's tradition. But... I really want to get back to the College, sooner rather than later. I'd leave tonight if I could, but the headmaster might react poorly. Gods, he's likely gonna react poorly anyway when I don't show up for our annual end-of-year chat. But really, I'm not a puppet.”

“Well said, mate,” Ron agreed.

“And really, if anyone asks, just tell them the truth. I left a little sooner. The term's done, so what if I don't take the train back? I'm meeting my friends in Hogsmeade, and we're taking the floo back to the Commonwealth.”

“So we'll see you again over the summer?” Ginny asked, feeling her face get hot.

“I dunno. Depends on what I get up to back in Skyrim. The Arch-mage will likely have me teaching a class again, but if I can get away early, I'll come visit you guys. I told you guys already, your house is wicked.”

“Uh, thanks,” said Ron, looking at the floor.

“Don't be ashamed of your house, Ron. It's an extraordinary piece of magic. I could feel the love that went into making it—all of you are wealthy beyond your dreams on that fact alone.”

“Thanks, Harry!” said Ginny, blushing. Even after two years, she still found it awkward to talk to him.

“But you're coming back next year, right?” Neville dared ask.

“I sort of have to, so yeah, I'll be back in September. I'll even catch the Hogwarts Express, like everyone else!” Harry smirked.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. “You're so aggravating at times!”

“I know. I try my best!”

* * *

True to his word, the following morning, he slipped out, and had breakfast early. In fact, he finished just as a few of the teachers were filing in to take their seats at the head table. As luck would have it, Professor Dumbledore was late. Harry stood up, and left the room, passing a few students on their way in.

He quickly made his way up to the third floor, and found the statue of the humpbacked witch. So now how to open it? The twins, had, of course, left out one important detail. Harry activated the map, and immediately found himself, standing exactly as he was, half-way down the third-floor corridor. So now what? Harry looked a little closer, and he could see his miniature self, tapping the statue with his miniature wand, and a speech bubble appeared, with a single word inside of it: _Dissendium_.

“ _Dissendium_ ,” said Harry, tapping the statue with his wand.

The statue opened at once, wide enough to admit a thin person—or himself, in this case. Checking again to make sure no one was able to see him, he climbed inside.

The passage took what seemed like an hour to navigate, but at last, the tunnel began to rise, finally leading to a long set of stairs ascending out of sight.

“Great,” Harry muttered, and began climbing. Maybe he should just take out his broom, it would probably get him to the top faster. Or not. Better to do it on foot, no telling what was at the top—though the map wouldn't lead him anywhere dangerous... would it?

After what seemed like a good ten minutes of climbing, he bumped his head on something hard—a trap door. Listening carefully, he heard no one above, and so he pushed it open. It was a cellar, by the looks of it, stacked with boxes of all sorts, the inventory for the store, more than likely. He had escaped the school and arrived in Hogsmeade... Honeydukes Sweet Shop, if what he'd read on the map was right.

An unlocking charm and a short walk later, Harry stepped into the Three Broomsticks. Even at this hour of the morning, the place was open, although there weren't normally many people around. Among them, were two people Harry was more than pleased to see: Justin and Mazhe.

“You've escaped, I take it,” said Mazhe, with a smirk.

“You could say that,” Harry grinned. “Dobby?”

_Pop_. “Harry Potter sir call for Dobby?”

“Yes. I need you to go back to Gryffindor tower and collect my things—my trunk and so on. Can you see to it?”

“Right away, Harry Potter sir!” The elf popped away.

“Why didn't you just shrink it all down?”

“Less suspicious this way. If they checked the dormitory before I was gone, you know that sort of thing.”

“Fair enough,” said Justin.

Dobby reappeared with another pop. “Dobby is bringing Harry Potter sir his things. Is he be needing anything else?”

“No. I'm returning to the College of Winterhold for the summer. But if my friends need to contact me, you know how to reach me.”

“Dobby remembers very well.”

“Good. Barring that, I'll see you likely at the end of August.”

“Dobby will wait for your call. Farewell, Harry Potter sir!” And with a pop, he was gone.

“Way too much energy, I think,” said Mazhe, shaking his head.

“Yeah, agreed.”

“Are you ready to get back to the Commonwealth?” Justin asked.

“Yeah. Before the barmy old man gets any ideas,” said Harry, with a scowl.

One by one, the three of them vanished through the fireplace, and thus ended Harry's third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: An encounter with an Elder Scroll, new trainers, the World Cup of Quidditch, and a mage out of Morthal might have a solution to the matter of Horcruxes..._
> 
> _AUTHOR NOTES: So ends Harry's third year. And now, things really start to get serious. Harry's first visit to Riften, and the shady characters there. And of course, how will the Commonwealth react to Harry being forced to compete in the tournament?_
> 
> _Harry's Boggart is significantly different from canon. I need not remind everyone, Harry's grown up differently, has had different experiences. He's faced some scary things. He hasn't faced Voldemort directly, so that's kind of out. And to have two of his earliest, strongest friends taken from him? Up to this point it was something he'd not given any thought to—at least consciously._
> 
> _Once again, things get moved ahead by a fair bit—or maybe a lot. Maybe Sirius got the cooperation of Crookshanks a little quicker this time around. Either way, Sirius actually gets into the tower on Halloween this time. But I'm not done with Peter. He'll be back later on..._
> 
> _(1) Since Buckbeak didn't actually attack Draco here, he would have nothing to complain about. Perhaps he might complain about Harry, but he does that on a regular basis already, right?_   
> _(2) The incantation is not given for this spell in canon, but I think this will suffice. “Reversus” is Latin for reverse._   
> _(3) “Tahrodiis mey! Aav Dilon!” - “Treacherous fool! Join [the] dead!”_


	8. Daedra and Death Eaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Mazhe have an encounter with an Elder Scroll; Harry celebrates his fourteenth birthday; a visit to Riften has Harry picking up a few more instructors; and the outing to the World Cup of Quidditch ends in a most unpleasant manner.

# 8: DAEDRA AND DEATH EATERS

**July and August, 2004**

* * *

By the end of June (Mid-Year), Harry was once again settled in at the College of Winterhold. Along with his own studies, and catching up with the numerous faces he'd missed while at Hogwarts, he was also asked to teach a class twice a week. He would be teaching new students, as he had in the past, once again covering destructive magic, his area of expertise.

Sirius had joined them this time, as had Remus, within a few days of the end of term. Harry was furious when he found out Remus had resigned from teaching—not with Remus, of course, but with the school. Apparently, word had leaked out about his 'furry little problem'. Rather than cause further grief for the school, he resigned. Harry made a silent vow to determine who had 'let it slip' about the man's condition, and reward them in kind. Equally, he sent off a letter to Professor Snape, asking if he was willing to continue brewing the Wolfsbane potion—Harry was most certainly willing to pay for it if necessary.

With the extra people now joining Harry at the College, modifications were required. At first it was suggested Sirius and Remus rent rooms at the Frozen Hearth in Winterhold, but Justin was a little more practical, suggesting they expand the room to suit. The Arch-mage was consulted first, and he readily agreed, although he wished to observe the expansion himself. He knew magic from Harry's world was significantly different from that of Tamriel, but to just expand a room with a spell? That had to be impressive.

He was not disappointed, as the three adult wizards easily doubled the size of Harry's room, and added an additional room that would serve as a washroom—Justin's idea. It would be fitted out later, once he had an opportunity to send a letter back to the Commonwealth. Although both Harry had gotten used to the lack of modern conveniences, Sirius and Remus were not. So, the washroom was a bit of a priority.

The room now featured five small compartments with curtains for privacy, the washroom, and a central common area. The common area consisted of several comfortable chairs, and a moderate-sized table at its centre, for eating and working. The fireplace had also been moved into this area, granting more privacy and security, considering the room was sealed off when Harry and his friends weren't at the College.

* * *

_3 Sun's Height_

Harry looked up from his nearly finished breakfast to see Mazhe step into the room.

“Harry... good, you're up. This came for you.” He had an envelope in his hand.

“Balls, knew I forgot something,” said Harry, as Mazhe took a seat at the table. “Need to see about getting another post box for the room.”

“Why not just get one and keep it on your person?”

“Hedwig wouldn't like it,” Harry answered, shaking his head.

He glanced at the envelope. It had the Gringotts seal on it. He opened it, and pulled out the yellow parchment from inside.

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We regret to inform you that, by order of the Ministry of Magic, the contents of your vaults have been frozen. Enquiries regarding this matter must be directed to the Ministry._

_We regret any inconvenience this may have caused._

  _Ragnok,_  
 _Manager,_  
 _Gringotts, London_

 

Harry felt fiery rage lick his insides.

“You meddling...” Harry unleashed a stream of colourful language that would have resulted in Alice washing his mouth out with soap, had she been around.

“What's wrong, Harry?” Justin called from his compartment.

“Meddling old farts, is what!” Harry snarled, “The term was bloody over! He still orders my vaults frozen! How dare he!”

Sirius was already casting silencing charms at the door, so they didn't wake the rest of the building.

“Let the Ministry work on it,” said Justin, as he at last joined them at the table.

Harry slid the letter across the table.

“Send that along, so they have it. Really starting to dislike Dumbledore. It's like he's obsessed with me or something.”

“He does seem to have an unhealthy interest in you,” Mazhe agreed.

Harry sucked in a breath then blew it out.

“Y'know, if it weren't for my worry about the Commonwealth and the friends I now have there, I would stay here and never return. Dumbledore can go to hell for all I care.”

“You know about the prophecy,” said Justin.

“I know. Doesn't mean I have to cozy up to the meddling old man though. I'll need to pen a letter to Ron and Hermione. They'll be disappointed that I won't be returning in September, but really. I'll keep up on my studies from here.”

“If that's what you want to do, kiddo.”

“Pretty much.”

“We'll just set things up as they had been before you started at Hogwarts,” said Justin, summoning a notebook from his compartment. “I'll be able to teach math and science, though you know I've been hired by the Ministry of Science & Technology, right?”

“Yeah. Glad to see your hard work paying off.”

“Just about done my research paper. It's just a matter of getting the university to approve it. Thing is though, I'll put that on hold to help you out.”

“No. Don't put your life on hold because of me,” Harry answered, “And just to be clear, I'm not abandoning my destiny. I'm just doing it my way. I'll deal with Riddle, when the time comes. Meanwhile, I think we can do something much more constructive today all considering...”

* * *

The month flew by and in the blink of an eye, it was Harry's fourteenth birthday. This year, rather than Harry travelling back to the Commonwealth, it was a reversal, and they held a party at the College. Harry invited Hermione, Neville, and most of the Weasleys, including Molly and Arthur. They wouldn't allow their children to visit without them coming along. Alice and Will also attended.

Just before 11 am, the guests started arriving.

“Harry, good to see you again.”

Harry was not surprised to find Guardian Elaine joining Alice and Will as they arrived through the floo.

“I hope you don't mind me, err, crashing your party.”

“Of course not, my lady,” Harry grinned, giving a low bow.

“Always the charmer, this one is.”

“Happy birthday, Harry,” said Will.

“Thanks. Oh... put that with the rest,” said Harry, seeing the wrapped package. He pointed to a moderate-sized pile of presents at the centre of the table which took up the middle of the room. Guardian Elaine seemed to appraise the pile, and frowned, seeing a steel sword amongst the items.

“Um... I think that was from the Jarl of Windhelm,” said Harry, following her gaze.

“Ulfric Stormcloak likes Harry for some reason. Of course he gets along with the Jarl of Whiterun pretty well these days as well,” said Mazhe, with a bit of a smirk, “Takes quite something to impress either of them.”

“Indeed, Harry has been making a bit of a name for himself.” The gathering found the Arch-Mage framing the doorway. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good to see you again, Savos,” said Guardian Elaine.

“Likewise. Forgive me if I cannot stay. I'm expecting the Thalmor ambassador shortly and I must be at the gate to greet her.”

“She's finally been able to convince you to meet face to face, I see,” said Mazhe, looking rather sour.

“Unfortunately.” Arch-mage Aren clearly wasn't up to meeting the person.

“I take it you dislike the Thalmor,” said Guardian Elaine.

“The bastards murdered my mother, father, and little sister when I was very young,” Mazhe answered, his face clouding with anger. “For that, I was sent to the orphanage in Riften, a really _cheery_ place to live... someone else I'll pay back in kind.” The last bit was muttered mostly to himself.

“Right. Enough of that rubbish,” said Harry, “No more dark business, it's my birthday after all.”

“And I do have to meet Elenwen, so have a wonderful day,” said Arch-mage Aren, and with that, he left the hall.

The fireplace roared to life again, this time expelling Neville and his imposing grandmother.

“Madam Longbottom. Good to see you again,” Harry greeted.

“And likewise, Mr. Potter. Happy birthday, young man.”

“Thank you. And a happy belated birthday, Neville.”

“Thanks! Though I did get your card. I'll use the gift certificate when I visit Diagon Alley for my school things later in the month. Maybe... if you'd like—”

“Even if I was returning to Hogwarts, I swore up and down I would never shop in Diagon Alley ever again,” answered Harry, ruefully. “I felt like a circus animal being put on parade.”

“It is most unfortunate you have had to experience such treatment,” said Madam Longbottom, “Our society should know better than to bite the hand that feeds them. I am aware of your present difficulties regarding your inheritance and your trust vault. There were a number of us who did not agree with the chief warlock's new policies.”

“Good to know that not all of Wizarding Britain are behaving like sheep,” said Will.

Harry blew out a breath.

“I'm still pissed about things. But I guess it just means I have to work a little harder at things. Not that I wouldn't even with a vault full of gold and so on—doing that would've proved my rotten relatives right. Now as it stands—“

The floo fired again, this time expelling the twins. Immediately after, it fired again, and Mr. And Mrs. Weasley stepped out. They were then followed by Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. From there, the party got under way, with an early lunch put out by Dobby and several other house elves. Harry did have to wonder where he had recruited them from.

Then, throughout the afternoon, it was a mix of entertainment, as Harry celebrated his fourteenth birthday. The numerous members of the college also visited when they could, and in several instances, resulted in rather comical encounters. Harry had mentioned there were other races in Tamriel, but this was the first time people from his own world experienced it for real.

J’zargo got the most interest, given he was he most radically different of the species present. Both Hermione and Ginny found him to be ‘adorable’, and Harry had to smirk, knowing the sort of trouble the khajiit got into. Would they find him so adorable if they knew?

Enthir was another matter. It didn’t take long for the twins to hook up with him, and Harry internally shuddered at the mischief the three of them might cause. It was quite well known, after all, that Enthir was a rather resourceful bosmer, able to track down just about anything, whether it be legal or not. J’zargo was tame compared to Enthir.

Later in the afternoon, Urag gro-Shub made an appearance, at last pulling himself away from the Arcaneum. When Hermione found out what he did at the College, the orismer found himself inundated with questions about the College’s extensive library. Harry again had to smirk; the two of them had a thirst for knowledge.

“Just remember, Hermione, you have to be back in London come the first of Hearthfire.”

“Oh, very funny, Harry.”

“I do try my best.” Harry became serious. “Y'know, I'm sure we could probably work something out so you could spend a little time in the Arcaneum. If you wouldn't mind, Urag.”

“She would be welcome, seeing she is a friend of yours,” Urag answered, gruffly.

“Really?” Hermione was clearly excited at the prospect.

“You guys start learning things here, it'll be a daunting challenge to get everyone back to Hogwarts in Hearthfire,” Harry smirked.

All in all, the day had been a wonderful time for all, perhaps the best birthday celebration yet, as he was surrounded by all his friends. The previous school year hadn't been quite as crazy as the two before, and even better, he gained two strong allies from it. Remus and Sirius had been friends of his parents, and in Sirius' case, he had been named Harry's godfather. Some birthday gifts weren't in tangible form, after all.

* * *

_6 Last Seed_

“Harry?! Where are you?” came Mazhe's excited voice.

Harry was still half asleep, taking advantage of a rare down day. Sirius and Remus had returned to the Commonwealth for a series of meetings and other business dealings. Harry knew those meetings concerned him, but really, he knew they had his best interests at heart, and trusted them implicitly.

“ _Tempus_ ,” he muttered, and '10:40 am' wafted from the end of his extended finger.

“Harry?” Mazhe called again, this time stepping into their common room.

“What is it?” Harry answered, at last sitting up and parting the curtains.

“Something wrong?” came Justin's voice from the bathroom.

“No, no, nothing's wrong,” Mazhe answered, “Just... I need some help. You guys remember when we visited that Dwemer Occulary a few years ago?”

“Yeah, of course. Whatever it was, it didn't work,” said Harry, as he at last cleared the fog out of his head, and threw on a tee shirt.

“I know why.”

Mazhe sat down at the round table, and dug into his side pouch, pulling out some sort of cube with tiny etchings all over it.

“I've uncovered some information about the place.”

“Which is?”

“The machine, as I found out, actually does something. I stumbled on a hideout of sorts north of here. Septimus Signus, a former member of the College, was holed up there. He's utterly mad, but... he believes the Occulary contains an Elder Scroll. Septimus says this cube—“ Mazhe gestured at the cube now resting on the table, “—can be used to decode the scroll, and the machine in the Occulary can do it.”

“Gods... that information would be wicked to see,” said Harry, “Urag would probably love to have a look at it.”

“Once Septimus is finished with it. He's got some sort of Dwemer contraption he's trying to open. He believes the information in the Elder Scroll will help him do so. But I agree, after Septimus is done with it, we can turn it over to Urag.”

“And the Elder Scroll itself?”

“If you want it, you're welcome to it. There aren't many people it will do any good for. Though I might like to have a quick look at it.”

“Won't it make you go blind?”

“Continuous exposure to it, yes.”

“Well. Justin, up to a little expedition back to Tower Mzark?”

“If you're going...”

Hours later, the three of them were silently cursing themselves. It had taken until the late afternoon to get there on foot, and immediately on entering the rather large Dwemer chamber, they found it was already occupied.

“You picked a bad time to get lost, friend,” came a rough voice. An instant later, an arrow whizzed by Harry's head, missing by a fraction of an inch.

KAWHACK!

Harry did not miss. The frigid projectile lodged in the bandit's chest, and he collapsed in a heap, trying to breathe through shattered lungs. Harry nailed him again, this time putting a projectile through his throat, and ending his misery. Mazhe, meanwhile, focused on the archer, who was trying to hide behind the curvature of the machine which took up most of the space in the room. He alternated between a shock spell and a fire spell, both of them leaving burn marks on the wall as he pushed the bandits back.

“Shor's balls... should've expected something would make itself at home in here,” Harry muttered.

“All of us are at fault, Harry. First part of getting around unseen. We dropped in here like a herd of mammoths,” Mazhe answered.

“Guys!” Justin shouted, as an arrow narrowly missed Mazhe's head by inches.

“ _REDUCTO_!” The red blast of magic took the bandit's arm off.

“Thanks, mate,” said Harry, as the bandit fell off the ledge, and crumpled in a heap in front of them. It was Mazhe this time who cast the lethal blow. All of them had learned the hard way. Bandits could not be allowed to live.

It took a few minutes before the three of them were sure the bandits had been taken care of. They had encountered six of them all told, and discovered a chest filled with a few useful items.

“Gods... if Delvin ever got wind of this debacle, I'd never hear the end of it,” said Mazhe, shaking his head. They had climbed the ramp up to the upper level of the chamber, where the machine's controls lay.

“We're all at fault, Mazhe. It's been a while since we've done any of this sort of thing, after all,” said Harry. “Now. Let's see if our trip here is worth it.”

“Yes, indeed.” Mazhe again produced the cube. “Look here.” He pointed to a pedestal to the right of the complicated set of controls. “It's an edged receptacle, exactly as Septimus described.”

Mazhe set the cube into the receptacle, and was not surprised, as it instantly began to glow. Immediately following that, a large button was uncovered on a pedestal immediately to the left of it.

“Now we're getting somewhere.”

“Look.” Harry pointed to a set of what looked like mirrors, swinging down from the ceiling.

“Right. Looks like we have to arrange the mirrors into a certain pattern for this to work.”

Mazhe pushed the illuminated button, and sure enough, another set of mirrors began to swing around. He held it down until a button immediately left of it became uncovered and lit up. And so he repeated the process, until a final button was revealed. Pressing this one caused a capsule-like contraption to swing down from the ceiling, and the cube he had brought with him to bloom with colour. The contraption sprung open, and even Harry could see the large scroll being suspended at its centre.

“Harry. You mind? I'll collect the cube.”

Up close, Harry could feel the immense power radiating from the legendary artefact. He knew enough about Tamriellic lore to know how immensely powerful an Elder Scroll was. The scrolls were one part historic document, one part prophecy. Even to lay eyes on one, was truly something special. He reached out and grasped the powerful item, gently prying it from the brackets holding it in place. He tugged at the edge of it, and unrolled it.

“Harry, no!”

It was too late. Harry's vision filled with what seemed like a million runic symbols in a white haze, and he felt a white-hot stabbing pain in his scar.

* * *

_Riddle Manor  
Little Hangleton_

At long last, things were finally getting back on track. That useless rat, being caught had damned everything to hell. It was only pure luck that Barty Crouch, Jr. Had located the manor, and more importantly, the shade that was the Dark Lord. With careful instruction, Barty had been able to create a temporary body that would give Voldemort form, at least until a more proper ritual could be conducted the following spring. At least that was the plan. And, considering a certain tournament was to be held at Hogwarts that coming school year, the timing couldn't be any more perfect.

There was still the factor of getting into the school, but Barty had that covered as well: Polyjuice. It would, of course, have to wait until the bumbling old fool announced who would take the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and then he would take care of matters.

As to the Dark Lord himself, Barty would place the old caretaker of the property under the Imperius curse, and have him see to Voldemort's needs during Barty's absence. Perhaps something could also be done about Pettigrew, to somehow get him released from Azkaban... or perhaps arrange an escape. How hard could it be? After all, two had managed to pull it off, Barty himself included.

Their daily musings were abruptly interrupted, as the Dark Lord literally screamed, feeling his mind being bombarded with a painful blast of white magic, the likes of which he'd never experienced.

* * *

“Harry? You okay?” Harry found two faces filling his immediate vision—two very concerned friends.

“Uh... yeah... think so. What... what happened?”

“You weren't supposed to open it, Harry. Can you see all right?” Mazhe was clearly still worried.

“No worse than before. H-help me up.”

Harry still felt a little scattered from the experience, but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. They were still in the Occulary, with the strange contraption directly overhead.

“Really stupid, Harry,” said Justin, shaking his head.

“Thanks for the ringing endorsement. C'mon, let's get out of here,” Harry scowled. He picked up the scroll, and tucked it away in his rucksack.

“Actually we might want to rest a bit first. We'll camp here for the next few hours,” Mazhe decided.

“Sure. Head's still a little fuzzy as it is,” Harry agreed.

Sometime later, the three of them again set out, exiting the Occulary through the Dwemer elevator. As they discovered, they had been inside all night, as the sun's rays were just starting to make themselves felt across the frigid land. It may have been Last Seed, but that far north, it really didn't matter too much. Snow still covered much of the ground anyway. The northern holds were the coldest parts of the province, locked in a nearly eternal winter.

It was well after lunch before they arrived back at Septimus' hideout. In addition to a lengthy walk across the frozen land, they had to use a boat to get out to the isolated island, northwest of Winterhold. Mazhe collected the Elder Scroll from Harry, then asked them to wait while he went inside and spoke to Septimus.

It took somewhat longer than he expected, and Mazhe was somewhat unnerved by the encounter.

“What happened?” Harry could read his friend pretty well by this point.

“Gods... really regret getting tangled in that mess. You... remember the stories about the Daedric princes?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I just met one of them.”

“No way.”

“For real. Hermaeus Mora, the keeper of forbidden knowledge.”

“What did he want?” asked Harry.

“I don't know, but it's something to do with the Dwemer contraption Septimus is trying to open.”

“Mazhe, please be careful. I've read enough to know they're truly evil forces.”

“Harry, I know. I don't plan on coming back here anytime soon. Here.” Mazhe pulled out the scroll from his satchel and passed it over. Harry slid it into his own satchel.

“We should get back to the College. There are people probably wondering where we are.”

“Back to the college, then,” Harry agreed, “Justin, you mind making us a port key?”

* * *

Only a few days later, Harry, Mazhe, and Justin found themselves in the southeastern settlement of Riften, a place that in Harry's opinion, had seen better days.

“It's not that bad, trust me,” said Mazhe, already able to read what Harry was thinking. “I did grow up here, remember?”

“The orphanage, you mean.”

“Didn't mean I wasn't able to go out and about. Old Grelod couldn't always keep track of me.”

“What you told me of her, reminds me too much of my aunt. And... she still runs the orphanage here?”

“As far as I know. Though, someday, I'll make sure that's no longer the case.”

“You mean kill her?” Justin guessed.

“Possibly. This woman I describe is exactly like Harry's aunt—no, I take that back. She's worse, because, she's responsible for dozens of orphaned children for starters. Your aunt never actually beat you, right?”

Harry shook his head.

“Well Grelod most certainly does. And I'm not talking about a love tap. The woman's cruel.”

“Does the Jarl know about it?” Justin asked. They were then approaching the wide open main gates of the city proper, a guard standing on either side of it.

“Oh, I'm sure of it,” answered Mazhe, sadly, “Though she really doesn't have a whole lot of pull in that sort of matter. Maven Black-Briar's the true power in Riften.”

Harry could only nod, as they stepped through the gate into the city proper. He knew his friend would likely deal with that painful part of his childhood sometime in the future. The Breton certainly wasn't above a bit of petty revenge. Or in this case, some honestly-earned payback.

“C'mon, I wish to introduce you to a few people, Harry,” said Mazhe, as his mood seemed to lighten, “They should be in the market.”

The city proper looked much like the buildings outside the walls, made of wood, and in less-than-ideal condition. There was a canal running through the middle of the city, seeming to open into the lake, and a good portion of the city was built on high wooden supports. Perhaps at one point this was a busy centre of commerce. But... the fire. Right. Harry remembered reading about that. The city had been nearly burned to the ground during a rebellion against the tyrannical Jarl nearly seventy years ago, and clearly, the recovery was ongoing, and slow at best.(1)

As the group made their way along the edge of the canal, Harry could easily feel eyes watching them pass. It was clear the group were strangers, even though Mazhe was known. They were attracting attention, and in many ways, it was making Harry uncomfortable. After all, unwanted attention was one of the reasons for him not wanting to return to Hogwarts.

They crossed the canal, and entered the bustling market. There seemed like dozens of stalls, selling just about everything imaginable. There was a dark elf with a stall set up selling fresh meat and vegetables; another was set up selling weapons and armour. And still another was selling—wait. Harry had to force himself not to do a double-take.

“Mazhe... err... what... well... uh, what is he, exactly?” Harry discreetly pointed out the source of his question: a lizard-like humanoid behind a stall, selling what he thought were gems and jewelry.

“Madesi. He's an Argonian. I'll introduce you,” Mazhe answered, and led the group over to the stall.

“Greetings, Mazhe. How go your travels?” asked the Argonian.

“All is well, Madesi. I'd like to introduce you to my best friend, Harry. Harry, this is Madesi.”

“Ah, well, the pleasure is all mine,” answered Madesi, as he offered a hand. Harry grinned, and accepted it. “Mazhe has spoken much about you and... your friend—“

“Justin,” Justin introduced himself, offering a hand, which Madesi readily accepted.

“It is your first time in Riften?”

“It is,” Harry answered.

“I'm introducing Harry to Balimund. A good warrior needs to know how to produce and maintain his own weapons.”

“Ah, this is true.”

“And I could use a bite to eat,” Harry threw in, “It's nearly time for lunch.”

“So it is,” Mazhe agreed, “Let's meet with Balimund first—I see him by his forge.”

He discreetly pointed in the direction of a man working the smithy just outside of the market area, hammering on a half-formed sword.

“I have a bit of business with him as it stands.”

“Safe travels, land-striders,” said Madesi, as the three of them left his stall.

“Balimund,” Mazhe said, simply.

“Mazhe, good to see you again,” said the old smith, setting his tools down. He had a rough face, somewhat hidden by a bushy moustache, and rather messy dirty blond hair that was greying in some places.

“You wanted some fire salts for your forge?”

“How many were you able to find?”

The man's voice was as rough as his face, but the feeling Harry got from him was nothing but gentle. The man was a teddy bear.

“Eight while in my travels, and three more through a contact at the College,” answered Mazhe, as he reached into his satchel, and drew out a small sack. It was literally glowing an orange shade. Harry did his best not to laugh; he knew all too well exactly who Mazhe's contact at the College was. Fire salts were definitely some of the lighter and far more legal things requested from him.

“Mazhe, you are truly amazing,” Balimund praised, “You've saved my business and warmed an old smith's heart. For that, I thank you.”(2)

“Anything for a friend,” answered Mazhe, with a slight incline of the head.

“If there's anything I can do to repay you—”

“Actually. Balimund, this is Harry and Justin. Would it be possible for you to teach him to handle the forge?” Mazhe gestured to Harry.

“You wish to do what I do?” Balimund looked at Harry sharply.

“Yes sir.”

“Have you ever handled a forge before?”

“No sir. But I'm willing to give it my best. And... it doesn't need to start today if you don't have time.”

“Harry has other lessons he needs to attend,” Justin explained.

“I will take him on as a student,” Balimund agreed, “I won't charge you any fee, since Mazhe has more than saved my business.”

It was then the door into the shop itself opened, and a boy about Mazhe's age stepped out, bringing a plate filled with food.

“I grew tired of waiting,” the boy spoke, sounding slightly impatient. He had practically no hair, save for a dusting of fuzz on his scalp, and hazel eyes.

“Patience, Asbjorn. We are only finishing up a bit of business. This is Harry, and he will be joining you for lessons on Morndas(3).”

Balimund turned back to the group.

“This is my apprentice, Asbjorn Fire-Tamer.”

“Asbjorn and I share a bit of history,” said Mazhe, darkly.

“Still plotting the old crow's demise, are you?” Asbjorn smirked, to which Mazhe smirked right back.

“You were both in the orphanage,” Justin guessed, to which both nodded sourly.

“I'll plan to be back here for 9 in the morning, then, next Morndas,” said Harry, “lunch, meanwhile, sounds like an excellent idea.”

“We will see you next Morndas,” Balimund agreed, and the group stepped away.

“Where can we get something to eat here?” Justin asked.

“The Bee and Barb. Though... Keerava's not all that happy with me these days.” Mazhe did his best to keep a straight face.

“If you're looking for something a little more exotic, you might speak with Talen-Jai,” said another stall vendor, with a smirk.

“If you don't mind forgetting your name and your whereabouts for the next week,” Mazhe laughed.

“Is that so?” A mischievous smirk covered Harry's face.

“Speaking from experience, are we, lad?”

The four of them turned around to face the new speaker. He was a little shorter than Mazhe—although he was equally muscular, with shoulder-length, stringy auburn hair, and dark, dull-green eyes. Mazhe smirked again, then softened.

“Brynjolf. My friends Harry and Justin,” said Mazhe, indicating each. “Guys, this is Brynjolf, an old friend of mine.”

“A pleasure,” said the Nord, and another round of handshakes followed. “Mazhe has mentioned each of you on a few occasions.”

“Has he now?” Harry grinned. His stomach chose that moment to voice its opinion on matters. “Eh... lunch...”

“Yes, right. Brynjolf, care to join us?”

“...so the pompous fool yanks the cover off the cage, to reveal Cornish pixies, of all things. Most annoying little buggers, but really,” Harry was explaining, “They're little blue things that flit about causing mischief. And mischief they caused. Lockhart fled the classroom and locked himself in his office, leaving the lot of us to 'just nip the rest of them back in their cage'... bloody moron.”

“I keep telling Harry, I should offer to teach their Dark Arts Defence class. Perhaps they might actually learn something without Harry doing the teaching.”

Lunch was long over, but the four of them still remained clustered around a table, with a privacy ward around them so as not to let others listen in on the conversation.

“This school you've been attending sounds a bit out of sorts,” said Brynjolf.

“Out of sorts is putting it mildly. Sure, there are a few things I like, but after all the events of the past three years... Shor's balls, I've had enough. I'd love to see Arch-mage Aren have a go at the _great_ Albus Dumbledore, see who comes out on top. I'd bet my last Septim, Savos would curse the old man to Oblivion and back.”

“Unless Dumbledore lowered himself to using the unforgivables,” said Justin, darkly, “Desperate men do desperate things.”

“This is true,” they all agreed.

Brynjolf seemed to think on this, then asked, “What is an unforgivable?”

“Magic that is so dark, it is truly unforgivable. There are three curses in our world that are so dark, they literally take a part of the caster's soul. Being caught casting one earns the caster a one-way ticket to Azkaban, the Wizarding prison,” Justin explained.

“My parents were murdered with an unforgivable curse... the killing curse.”

“But surely—” Brynjolf began.

“This curse kills if it hits. It doesn't have to be a significant hit... it just has to make contact, and—” Justin snapped his fingers. “—that's it, it's all over. A green bolt of magic, and you're gone.”

“We have nothing quite like that here. Magic can be lethal, but...” Mazhe looked like he was about to be ill. “To instantly take someone's life by one curse... that is truly disturbing.”

“That's why it's an unforgivable. Even in the Commonwealth. It's a power no one should ever have.”

“Thing is, even without it, there are other ways which are equally efficient in achieving the same objective.” A frosty glow appeared in Harry's hand. “One of these through someone's eye socket and they're not getting up.”

“This is true,” Mazhe agreed.

“And have his friend exact revenge a second later,” said Brynjolf, “The smarter tactic is to not allow your enemy to know you're there at all.”

“Which brings me to the other reason we're back in Riften. Is Delvin about these days?”

“No. He's running a bit of business for us in Markarth. We don't expect him back until the beginning of Hearthfire,” Brynjolf answered.

“Disappointing.”

“Delvin?” Harry asked.

“Delvin Mallory. If there's anyone in the province that knows a thing or two about stealth, it's him,” Mazhe explained.

“But my cloak—” Harry began to protest.

“Great for hiding you visually, but there are other things that can tip someone off to your presence. Sight is but one of our senses, is it not?” Mazhe said.

“All right. I surrender. If... if I'm here on Morndas as it is, maybe we could set it up so I meet with Delvin in the afternoons or something.”

“It will depend on what he has to do when he returns.”

“Fair enough. All I know, I'm willing to learn whatever is offered, magical or otherwise. I have a destiny I have to face one day, and the better prepared I am, the better the chance of a positive outcome.”

“What sort of destiny, lad?”

“The dark wizard who killed my parents, he killed many more. There is a prophecy which says I am the one with the power to defeat him for good. I don't know what that power might be, but I know I need a lot more skills and training than I have now.”

“What sort of combat skills have you been learning?”

“Up to now, mostly daggers and swords, or other one-handed weapons.”

“And nothing to do with archery?”

“No. I didn't really think about it since I didn't know anyone with that sort of skill,” Harry answered.

“Well, lad, I happen to know someone. Mazhe, why don't you bring our friends here down to the Flagon, and I'll see about introducing them to Niruin.”

* * *

That wasted the afternoon. The Ragged Flagon was at first sight a dive. That was the first thing Harry thought when he set eyes on it. Dierge, the bouncer, was a gruff individual who watched them like a hawk from the moment they stepped into the place until the moment they left. Vekel, the barman, seemed to keep to himself behind the bar, unsure of what to think (after all, it was beyond rare for a group of strangers to be openly invited into the place). Lastly, there was a woman with white-blond hair exactly like Malfoy's, seated at one of the tables. Harry learned she simply went by the name of Vex, and Justin's prod of why was met with a threat of bodily harm.

Niruin, as Harry found out, was a Bosmer, and someone more than eager to teach his skill. They agreed that Morndas would be a suitable day, from 1 to 4 in the afternoon. At this point, Harry realized he would end up spending the entire day in Riften. Between what Vekel and Brynjolf were saying, it was more than likely Delvin wouldn't mind teaching for a couple of hours either just before or just after dinner.

Given it was an all-day carriage ride from Winterhold, that would waste two days travelling. Harry wasn't happy about the idea. Last thing he wanted to do was be stuck on a carriage... not when he could be learning.

Justin solved the problem that evening, after the group left the Ragged Flagon.

“I can make a port key to bring us back and forth between the pub and the College.”

“That makes it really simple, then. Wasting time travelling, that's not productive,” said Harry, somewhat relieved.

* * *

_August 22, 2004/22 Last Seed, 4E199_  
 _Ministry of Defence, Department of Information_  
 _Trevelyan_

Like any large country, the Commonwealth certainly had its own intelligence service. They kept tabs on events and people which could pose a threat to the nation, the magical world, or the world at large. A few discreet nudges now and then staved off disaster more than once.

Their information network was extensive, with hooks into the Central Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, MI-6, INTERPOL, and numerous other law-enforcement agencies around the globe. Being magical in nature, they could quite easily disguise contact, and the organization on the other end was none-the-wiser. Naturally, it was for the _greater good_.

This particular morning found Commander Brandon McAllister in the operations centre, in a conference with the imposing lady in charge, Doris Trent—most people called her “Mrs. T.” She was by no means a tall woman, but she certainly made up for it with her no-nonsense attitude.

“What can I do for you, commander?”

“I need a bit of help on a small project,” said the recently-promoted Special Operations Unit member.

“You are aware Mr. Potter's training schedule is accelerating?”

“Somewhat. I understand he is doing very well in... Skyrim, is it?”

“Correct. The issue is that there's a hole in his training... or more specifically, an area that's not being addressed.”

He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a small tablet device.

“If I could have access to one of your computers.”

“Have a seat.” Mrs. Trent indicated a vacant workstation.

Brandon took a seat at the offered station, pulled out his credentials, and held it in front of the small scanner beside the screen. The screen's contents instantly changed to reflect the user. Brandon, meanwhile, pulled out a small cable and used it to connect the tablet to the computer through the USB port. Moments later, a lengthy list filled the screen.

“My own research with my credentials... what we're looking for, is an individual with both military and martial arts training.”

“And someone outside the Commonwealth,” Mrs. Trent finished.

“Exactly. Sure, we could have one of our guys do it, but I don't think it would be as effective. What we need is—”

“Someone with nothing to lose.”

“Exactly.”

Mrs. Trent took a seat beside the Commander, and took control of the terminal. She began typing, and a similar list began to fill in.

“Most of these people have family, so we'll cross them out...” More typing.

“If they have family, but they're estranged, maybe,” Brandon threw in. Mrs. Trent made more changes, and the list seemed to shrink even further.

“If you're looking for martial arts training, is it absolutely necessary for them to be military?”

“I guess not. I was thinking in terms of discipline.”

“Someone who has extensive martial arts training would have discipline as well, Commander. Allow me to try something.”

She dragged the new list up to the top corner of the screen, and opened up a new search query.

“An individual who is estranged from or has no family... active or retired from mixed-martial-arts. Military background a bonus... and, how is this?” The computer had returned a lengthy list.

“Someone similar to Mr. Fraser, maybe a little older. Say, no older than thirty-five. But no younger than twenty-five,” said Brandon.

The list shrunk to half its size, and he looked impressed.

“Can you run backgrounds on them? Circumstances, other dragon shit?”

“It's what we do, commander. Stevens! Cole! Come here a second!” Mrs. Trent barked out.

By late afternoon, Brandon and Mrs. Trent were again clustered around the workstation, while Agent Cole sat in front of it.

“Out of the eight hundred or so names, this guy's the best bet. Name's Brendan Conlon, a high school Physics teacher in Philadelphia. He used to run the circuit until a few years ago. Second best would be Bill Senter, a guy in Vancouver, still active in the circuit.”

“What did you find about Conlon?”

“Difficult. Estranged from his father—”

“And married. No good,” said Brandon, dismissively, reading over the agent's shoulder, “I said no family.”

“Sorry, sir. Senter, then—”

“Hold on,” said Brandon, glancing across at the original list, “I thought I saw a Conlon on my first list.”

“Here we are,” said Cole, as an additional screen came up, including an official photo of a handsome-looking man in Marine dress-blues. “Thomas Conlon, twenty-eight, active with the U.S. Marine corps, rank of Staff Sergeant... Shit. This is messy. A friendly fire incident a year or so ago... Bombing run gone wrong, Conlon was the only survivor. Records indicate he's AWOL.”

“Estranged from family?”

“Yes sir.”

“No family of his own?”

“No sir.”

“Find out where he is and let me know.”

“We'll get back to you, sir.”

* * *

_Late evening, August 24, 2004 / 24 Last Seed, 4E199_

Harry, Justin, and Mazhe found themselves back in Trevelyan, having spent the night in a hotel. When Will had mentioned the Quidditch World Cup, Harry was more than enthusiastic about attending. He did feel a little bad that he couldn't fork out for it from his own vaults, but both Will and Alice were more than happy to make arrangements.

“Come on, gentlemen, we have a port key to catch,” said Will, “It goes whether we're there or not.”

“Great,” Harry muttered.

“It's downright useful, if you ask me,” said Mazhe, “Better than... the other method.”

“You mean Apparating,” said Justin. “Apparating is good for one or two people, but for the four of us, a Portkey is more efficient.”

“Once you're older, Harry, we'll teach you how to make them. Just like Apparition, you really have to know what you're doing,” Will explained.

They had travelled to the offices of the ministry of Culture and Heritage, the government department responsible for sports and games. Like most government offices in the Commonwealth, it appeared to be non-magical in nature, made of concrete and steel.

“Mr. Jarvis, good morning!” came a cheery voice, as they stepped into the lobby of the moderate-sized building.

“And good morning to you, Mr. Brown. Harry, Justin, Mazhe. This is Oren Brown, the minister for Culture and Heritage. Mr. Brown, this is Justin, Mazhe, and of course, I'm sure you know Harry Potter.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Oren let out a laugh. “Not many people don't know you, of course, Harry. Now. We'd best be ready...”

Oren reached into his pocket, and pulled out what looked like a miniaturized cast-iron frying pan. A tap of his wand restored it to its proper size.

“Gather around now, and get a finger on it. You all know the rules of travelling by Portkey?”

“Yes sir,” Harry answered. The others simply nodded.

“Good, good. Then get ready.” Oren held the Portkey out so everyone could get a grip on it, and glanced at his watch. “In three... two... one...”

Harry felt his feet leave the ground along with the tell-tale feeling of a hook about the navel, and he was pulled irresistibly forward. Mazhe was on his left, while Justin was on his right, all of them being banged around by the crazy method of travel.

Then, as quickly as it began, the ground was coming up to meet them. Harry let go of the Portkey, and this time barely managed to keep on his feet as he hit the ground a little roughly. Mazhe landed in a heap, as was the custom. Justin and Oren landed a whole lot more gracefully, touching down as though stepping off a flight of stairs.

“Five past five from Trevelyan,” said a voice.

They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as non-magicals, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.(4) Harry resisted the urge to laugh, they looked absolutely ridiculous.

“Good morning gentlemen,” said Oren, as he passed the frying pan to the kilted wizard. It was tossed into a bin with another lot of objects—Harry could spot a rolled-up newspaper, a deflated football, an empty Coke can, and a hand basket to name a few. Harry already knew a few things about port keys. Once used the objects had to be decontaminated to ensure the magic is removed from them, lest they end up in the hands of non-magicals again.

The man in galoshes, meanwhile, frowned at the group, seeing Mazhe's appearance—by all accounts, he looked non-magical.

“Wait. You're a... how...” He stuffed the watch back into his pocket and drew his wand. “OBLIV--”

Harry instantly produced his magical shield, and the spell bounced harmlessly off of it.

“Excuse me!” Oren growled, “How dare you.”

“Muggles aren't allowed!” the wizard shouted, “How dare _you_ for bringing--”

There was a blur only feet away, and a jumble of limbs appeared on the ground, while three others arrived much more gracefully.

“Now look what you've done...” the wizard muttered, retrieving his watch, “Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill.”

“Attack a member of our party again and you'll be sorry,” Oren vowed.

Harry, meanwhile, had forgotten all about what had just happened. The party who had just arrived included Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley. Two others had joined the group, including a rather handsome boy of about sixteen or seventeen.

“Harry!” Hermione beamed, as they embraced.

“Wow! Guys, this is wicked!” Harry grinned, as more handshakes ensued.

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Will said, cracking a smile. “Mr. Weasley, good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr. Jarvis. 'Morning, Basil.” Mr. Weasley handed him the spent port key (a mouldy old boot), and it was added to the growing pile.

“Hello there, Arthur. Not on duty, eh? We've been here all night... you'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find—”

“It's quite all right,” said Oren, with a frown, “They're with us.”

“Is that right?” The wizard named Basil again scowled at Mazhe. He then glanced at the pair of strangers, and consulted his list. “Diggory... second field you come to, site manager's called Mr. Payne.”

“Right. Knew I was forgetting something,” said Mr. Weasley, “Harry, this is Amos Diggory, and his son, Cedric.”

“Merlin's beard! Harry Potter?” Amos exclaimed.

“That would be me,” said Harry, uncomfortably. He did offer a hand, and Amos shook it vigorously.

“Cedric's mentioned you a few times of course...”

“Dad.” Cedric looked embarrassed.

“All right, let's get moving. We've got quarters set up in the third field,” said Oren, “The staff's already been on site putting things together for us.”

“This is brilliant,” Harry grinned, forgetting about his discomfort at the reaction from Mr. Diggory.

“One more birthday gift from the Commonwealth, Harry,” said Justin, “Will's been working on it since the spring.”

“Thank you.”

Cedric and his father left them at the second field, while the rest of the group walked to the third. The site was off to the side, and at first, Harry truly had to wonder how they all expected to share such a small space. There was a sign in front of the site which read: VALICADIA.

“We're all going to fit in there?” Harry clearly had his doubts.

“Climb inside, and you'll see,” Oren said, simply. Still doubting the logic, Harry did so.

Inside, he stopped in his tracks. Rather than a cramped six-person tent, he found what was a rather expansive executive suite that could have been ripped from a hotel in Trevelyan.

“I love magic,” Harry grinned.

“Gods!” Mazhe exclaimed, also astounded at the space.

“I know, it's brilliant. We need one of these for running about the countryside.”

“They are quite expensive,” said Oren, as he joined them, “This one is set up for government officials . A complete, functional bathroom there...” He pointed to a door leading off the main room. “There are beds for all of you, although I hope you don't mind sharing.”

“No, it's brilliant, Mr. Brown,” Mr. Weasley reassured. Everyone else had filed in by this point. Fred and George had parked themselves at the rather large table at the back of the tent.

“How are we for food and such?” Harry asked.

“More than covered,” answered Oren, “And I do need to remind everyone, that outside the tent, we can't be seen doing magic.”

“But in here is fine,” said Justin.

“Right. Dobby?” Harry called.

_Pop_. “Harry call for Dobby?”

“You mind sticking around and giving us a hand?”

“Harry Potter sir is camping!”

“That's the idea. Guys, what do we need?”

“Water's the big thing at the moment. But sending Dobby out to get it might not be a good idea,” said Will, with a laugh.

“No, no, definitely not.”

“Dobby can get it from Hogwarts,” said the elf.

“Then that solves that. D'you mind?” asked Harry. Dobby simply popped away.

“But where's the fun in that? Camping's supposed to be challenging, Harry,” said Will.

“I've done challenging already,” Harry muttered, “Try sleeping in a tent that's not closed in on all sides, with the wind and snow blowing in.”

The others simply gaped at Harry. It was sometimes easy to forget the boy had grown up in a rather inhospitable environment. Given that, if he wanted to make things easier, then so be it.

The morning and afternoon was spent exploring the massive campsite. It was a truly spectacular thing, seeing that many magical people all congregated in the same area. Most of the tents looked completely non-magical, as they were supposed to. On the other hand, there were a number of them which were quite obvious, sprouting chimneys, weather vanes, or other odd implements. It was no wonder the non-magical site managers were getting suspicious.

Harry also encountered a few of his (former) classmates during his wanderings. Seamus Finnigan was there with his mother, as well as his best friend, Dean Thomas; their tent was covered in live shamrocks. Harry had to grin, knowing what the Ministry likely thought of that. Neville was also there, along with his grandmother. Their tent was strictly non-magical, and given Madam Longbottom's rather strict demeanour, that was no surprise.

Getting back to the tent, they found three others had joined the group—the older Weasley children: Percy, Charlie, and William (or Bill, for short). Percy had only recently earned his Apparition license, and like his older brothers, had chosen to Apparate to the campsite. Charlie worked for a dragon preserve in Romania, while Bill worked for Gringotts, and at present worked in Egypt.

The afternoon was spent close to the tent, and Mr. Weasley was more than happy to point out a number of Ministry officials as they made their rounds. Ludo Bagman, in charge of the department of Magical Games and Sports, made an appearance late in the afternoon. He was wearing his old Quidditch robes—Mazhe was confused at the attire, but Ron was only happy to explain. The twins ended up placing a bet on the game: Ireland for the win, but Krum would catch the snitch. Tough odds, Bagman had remarked.

* * *

The stadium was enormous. A hundred thousand people, Mr. Weasley had remarked, as they queued up for the gate. The Ministry had worked for months in the planning and construction. It seemed to take forever to get there, climbing what seemed like hundreds of stairs.

They at last arrived at the entrance to the box, and Harry was somewhat surprised to find two black-clad soldiers standing at the doorway.

“Mr. Potter?” asked one of them.

“Er… yes, sir,” answered Harry, pushing the hair out of his face to show his infamous scar. “What… why are you guys here?”

“You don’t believe you’re the only Quidditch fan, now, do you?” said the other.

“Oh. Uh, right,” Harry grinned.

“One small detail I forgot to leave out,” said Will, as he pulled out both his ticket and his government credentials, “Queen Susan’s joining us.”

“The Queen of Valicadia?” Hermione looked shocked.

“She does enjoy a good Quidditch match now and then, miss…” said the first soldier.

“Hermione, sir. Hermione Granger.”

“This is Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, Bill, and their father, Arthur. Lastly, my best friend, Mazhe,” Harry introduced.

“Good to see Mr. Potter has made some wonderful friends. Go on in,” said the second soldier, as the first pushed the door open.

The box was quite large, with two rows of seats. Behind, there was a little bit of room to stand and mingle, which was what the Commonwealth’s monarch was doing at present. There were several other officials present, and for a moment, none of them noticed as Harry and his group entered the box.

“Your majesty. Harry Potter and his party.” One of the soldiers had followed them into the box.

“Mr. Potter. About time I meet you, young man.” The Queen was a middle-aged petite woman with a thin face, dark hair and hazel eyes. She quickly crossed the box to meet him.

“Your majesty,” said Harry, with a bow of the head.

“A rather belated happy birthday. I trust you enjoy your final gift this year?”

“I am. Thank you.”

“Everything is well, then?” the soldier at the door asked.

“I think I’ll be safe with this lot, Commander,” answered the Queen. The soldier bowed slightly, then stepped back out of the box.

“Your majesty, my friends.” Harry once again found himself doing an introduction of a large group of people. Hermione gave a curtsey, while the others simply gave a slight bow as they were introduced.

“Merlin, I now feel under-dressed!” Hermione exclaimed.

“We had to keep this quiet,” Justin explained, “The Commonwealth does have a few enemies who wouldn’t think twice about trying something.”

“Indeed the case, Mr. Fraser,” said the Queen, “My protection detail is certainly capable, but the fewer people who know of my presence, the better.”

“Well… err… it’s nearly time. We might want to take our seats.” Mr. Weasley turned to Fred and George. “No pranks or other nonsense.”

“That includes you too, Harry.”

Harry whirled to find Sirius had stepped into the box.

“Sirius!”

“Of course I was going to be here. I just needed to stop by the Minister’s box which is just above ours, and have a chat.”

“Mr. Black. We meet at last.”

“Your majesty,” said Sirius, with an incline of the head. The others were already moving to take their seats.

“What are these?” Ron had picked up what looked like a pair of binoculars, except for the fact they were covered in all sorts of knobs and dials.

“Omnioculars,” answered Oren, “They’re a virtual requirement for an event like this. In addition to being able to zoom right in, you can freeze the action, slow it down, or replay it. It’ll even give you a play-by-play if you want.”

“They must’ve been expensive.”

“Spared no expense,” said Sirius, with a grin, “I have to spoil my godson somehow. There is a pair for each of you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Black.” The Queen gave the dark-haired man a nod, and took her seat.

“You will need those. I don’t think the young ones here have been to an international Quidditch match yet, am I correct?” Oren asked. His answer was a shake of heads from the younger people in the box.

“Well then! You are all in for a treat!” said the Queen, with a broad smile.

She had no sooner spoken, than the voice of Ludo Bagman echoed across the stadium.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen. . . welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup_!"

The scoreboard directly across from them was cleared of its advertising, and now read: BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0

The Queen was right. It was a match for the ages. The game grew in intensity as it progressed, as did the dirty play. Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, pulled off something called a _Wronski Feint_ (according to the Omnioculars). The Irish seeker, Aiden Lynch, was unable to keep up, and ended up ploughing a ditch in the middle of the pitch. Krum didn’t escape the match unscathed, taking a bludger to the face. His nose was busted, his face bloody. He had the last laugh, however, catching the snitch. The game ended exactly as Fred and George had predicted; Krum caught the snitch, but Ireland won the game, 170 – 160.

All too soon, the group was making a return to the campsite. The Queen herself had taken a Portkey directly back to Trevelyan, along with her protection detail and the other officials who came with her. Oren, on the other hand, felt it was only proper they spend the night to get the full experience. Harry couldn’t agree more. He might have grown up for the most part in Skyrim, but he was still every bit the wizard, and appreciative of Wizarding culture.

The grounds continued to be noisy throughout the evening. Harry and his friends visited Seamus for a few hours while they celebrated the Irish victory, and it was well after midnight before they got back to the campsite.

“Well. This has been one hell of a time, gentlemen,” said Mazhe, a little unsteady on his feet, a glass half-filled with firewhiskey in his hand.

“Glad you came. I had fun too today. Good to unwind for a bit, I think,” said Harry. He was nursing a mug of butterbeer, seated in one of the somewhat comfortable couches.

“Better sit down, mate, ‘fore you make a faceplant,” Ron smirked.

“Like this?” He half fell onto the couch beside Harry.

“Prat.”

“Know you are, but what am I?”

“Real mature, Mazhe.”

Mazhe retaliated by reaching over and tickled Harry’s ribs, making him nearly spill his drink.

“Hey!”

“Well?”

“Oh you’re funny.” Harry stuck his tongue out at him.

“Such maturity, Harry.”

“Shut up, Padfoot. _Rictumsempra_!”

Sirius collapsed in a heap, as he was assaulted by the jinx.

Harry was awakened sometime later by shouts outside. He’d fell asleep on the couch, with Mazhe crushed up against him.

“Harry? Wake up! This is urgent!” It was Mr. Weasley.

“What… what’s going on?”

He gave his head a shake, and gently prodded Mazhe.

The sounds from outside had changed. People were no longer singing, but screams and shouts could be heard. He could hear people running outside. “Mazhe?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“All of you. Come on. Just grab a jacket—“

“Mr. Weasley,” said Justin, “Get the girls. We’ll be taking a port key back to the Commonwealth.”

“No arguments!” said Sirius, also realizing the danger. “When we get back to Trevelyan, we’re immediately taking the floo back to the College of Winterhold. We don’t know what this is.”

“Yes, right.” Mr. Weasley stepped outside, and returned less than a minute later with Ginny and Hermione. In that time, Justin and Oren had awakened everyone else, and they had gathered in the common area.

“Dad, what’s going on?” asked Charlie.

“I don’t know son.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not good. Everyone gather around.” Oren had produced a two-litre soda bottle. “This is programmed to take us to Trevelyan.”

“As long as the lot of us can use a floo when we get there,” said Mr. Weasley.

“It’s quite all right, we’ll sort it out when we get there. Get a finger on it.”

Everyone did so.

“ _Activate_ ,” came Oren’s command, and the group was whisked away in a blur of limbs and bodies, leaving the impending chaos behind.

They landed roughly in the lobby of the Ministry building back in Trevelyan.

“Mr. Brown, Mr. Fraser. They’re about to lock down the floo.” This from a security guard at the doors.

“Bullocks! All of you, this way!” Oren barked, leading the still disoriented group to a bank of fireplaces.

“Sorry guys, I don’t have a chance to change the floo for all of you,” said Harry.

“Ron, Ginny, and the twins are still on your access list, are they not?” asked Mr. Weasley.

“Yeah, of course. And of course they can join us.”

“Better safe than sorry. I’ll let Molly know what’s happened.”

“And we’ll send word once we know exactly what’s going on,” Oren promised, “Now you all better go.”

Harry watched as the older Weasleys all vanished through the floo. Then it was their turn. In quick succession, the remainder of the group save for Oren used the floo to return to Skyrim.

“What… what exactly happened?” Mazhe finally dared ask, as he sat heavily in one of the chairs.

“I don’t know…” answered Sirius, “But… it could have been Death Eaters. They would have done this sort of thing years ago, back when Voldemort was still at the height of his power.”

“It sounds likely,” Justin agreed. The adrenaline was still racing in all of them.

“But… we could’ve helped,” George protested.

“NO! Are you out of your mind?!” Sirius snapped back, “We don’t know for sure exactly what was going on, but all of you have to know, you could have been killed!”

“Exactly,” Justin agreed, “Right now, best thing we could have done is flee the scene.”

“Sirius is right, guys. Your mum would never forgive any of us, should something happen to you,” said Harry.

He sucked in a breath and blew it out.

“Well that tears it. Whatever it was, I think I’ll take my chances here in Skyrim.”

“It’s not gonna be the same at Hogwarts without you,” said Ron.

“I know, guys, but really. Dumbledore wants me under his thumb. Everywhere I go, it results in some sort of chaos unfolding—tonight being an example of that.”

“Chaos still finds you here though, Harry,” said Justin. He thought for a moment. “D’you mind giving Dobby a call? We could use a few stomach-calming draughts, and perhaps a few anti-hangover draughts.”

“Sure. Dobby?”

It took a few seconds, but the excitable elf appeared, also looking out of sorts.

“Harry Potter! Dobby was worried! Dobby is glad to see Harry Potter sir is being safe!”

“Everyone’s fine, Dobby. Who was it attacking the camp site?”

“Bad witches and wizards! Dobby’s former master is being there too, they is doing terrible things to Muggles!”

Harry cursed, remembering the kind Muggles who pointed out the camp site. Now he all but knew who was responsible. Sirius had been right.

“Dobby. We need a few potions. Some anti-hangover draughts, as well as a couple of stomach-calming draughts. Do you mind?”

“Right away, Harry Potter, sir!” He popped away.

“Harry... everything all right?” Tolfdir was standing in the doorway to the common room, looking concerned.

“Most unsettling events have just unfolded back in our world,” Sirius explained, gravely.

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

“No. The floo's been sealed off for the time being, and all we can do is wait,” Justin explained, “The Government takes this sort of thing very seriously.”

“What kind of incident are you dealing with?”

“At present, we aren't absolutely certain, but we believe it may have been the work of Death Eaters,” said Sirius.

“Part of the future Harry faces,” Tolfdir remembered.

“Yes. Quite likely.”

“But Harry is nowhere near prepared to face them.” Sirius looked directly at Harry. “You know that, do you not? It isn't a matter of us sheltering you.”

“I know, Sirius. But you and I both know, there will come a time when running and hiding from them won't be an option. We'll need to fight them.”

“And when that time comes, you'll be more than ready. You keep telling me I'm the brightest witch of my year, Harry, but you're the most powerful wizard, hands down,” said Hermione, “You put our Dark Arts Defence teachers to shame two out of three years.”

Dobby returned at last, bringing with him the required potions. Everyone was appreciative, given they had been a little unsteady on their feet and slightly disoriented, being startled awake only minutes prior. After that, there was not a whole lot anyone could do, but wait. Of the group, only Justin made it to his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: The Commonwealth speaks to the ICW concerning Dumbledore's unhealthy interest in Harry's affairs; a visit to a mage in Morthal provides a way for Harry to destroy the Horcrux embedded in Tom Riddle's Journal; and an outing on Halloween brings excitement for the wrong reasons._   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: Thanks to **megsjedi** for spotting an orphaned 'Steve', it's been corrected._   
> _Another reminder, the events of “Warrior” have been adjusted to suit. We'll be seeing Tommy in the near future, and yes, I have very good reason for his presence. Harry, on the other hand, will not be pleased with the process behind their meeting... and neither will her majesty._   
> _(1) I refer people to the in-game text “Of Crossed Daggers: The History of Riften”. This gives a rough idea of what actually happened to the city. Also, I should point out, I envision the cities and towns within Skyrim to be somewhat larger than they are portrayed within the game-world. A city with roughly forty to fifty people in it? Doesn't sound right to me._   
> _(2) Directly quoted dialogue from the game._   
> _(3) Morndas – Monday in the Gregorian calendar. I again direct people to the Skyrim Wiki with regards to the Tamriellic calendar. The month/week/day structure is virtually identical, save for different names. Harry uses the Tamriellic and Gregorian calendar interchangeably, sometimes forgetting that others might not understand—or perhaps knowing very well it might be confusing... particularly in the example of Dumbledore. The more he can keep the headmaster guessing, the better, right?_   
> _(4) Quoted from the book. I don't dare tamper with JKR's description here, I couldn't do better than that._


	9. Here There be Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commonwealth addresses the ICW concerning Dumbledore's unhealthy interest in Harry's affairs; a visit to a mage in Morthal provides a way for Harry to destroy the Horcrux embedded in Tom Riddle's Journal; and an outing on Halloween brings excitement for the wrong reasons.

# 9: HERE THERE BE DRAGONS

**Late-August – October 31, 2004 (4E199)**

* * *

It was mid-morning before the expanded group received any sort of word back from their own world. Just after 10 am, the fireplace roared to life, expelling Will and Alice.

“Well?” Harry said simply, looking up from his breakfast that had for the most part went untouched.

“We are certain it was the work of Death Eaters,” said Will, as he spelled the soot off his clothes, “The Ministry of Justice was able to compare the eyewitness accounts to their own records.”

“The campsites were completely destroyed, but luckily, only a few deaths,” said Alice, producing a copy of the _National Daily Chronicle_ , the largest newspaper by circulation in the Commonwealth. The front-page was covered in several very graphic images which depicted the destruction. _CARNAGE AT QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP_ , the headline blared.

“Let me guess,” Justin muttered, “The non-magicals they were torturing.”

“Actually not. All the deaths were to magical people, including three Aurors. That, of course hasn't been made official, likely not until tomorrow or the day after. Naturally there were loads of injuries, and equally disturbing...” Alice pointed to one of the photos.

Mazhe appeared disturbed by the image. “What the hell is that?”

The photo depicted a massive green-coloured skull, with an equally massive green serpent protruding from its mouth, seeming to soar higher and higher in the night sky, above the ruined camping ground.

“The Dark Mark, Mazhe. It's Voldemort's sign,” said Sirius, as he stood behind the group, peering at the graphic photos. “Voldemort or his Death Eaters sent the Dark Mark into the sky whenever they killed. It was meant to instill terror. Whoever did it knew the effect it would have.”

“Did... You-know-who ever attack the Commonwealth?” Ron asked.

“Oh yes, he most certainly did,” said Alice, “We remember all too well what it was like over fourteen years ago. We were able to keep him out, but occasionally, we would get a sympathizer or three. We were lucky for the most part, given our security precautions.”

The floo fired again, and this time Remus stepped out of the fireplace, quickly vanishing the ashes from his robes.

“Harry,” he said, simply.

“I'm fine, Moony. We took a port key back to the Commonwealth as soon as we realized something was wrong,” answered Harry.

“Good. Good to hear. The Ministry's in an uproar, lots of finger-pointing and so on.”

“But what we're able to gather, the British Ministry's not doing much other than run around like chickens with their heads cut off,” said Will, ruefully, “Your Ministry's always been this scattered?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Jarvis,” answered Sirius.

“Doesn't help that they have an ineffective Minister, 'least what I understand it,” said Mazhe, “Gods, it's no wonder the bad guys are having such an easy go of things.”

“Exactly our point,” Alice agreed, taking a seat at the table. She reached into her bag and pulled out a folder. “Sir Malcolm Davis Institute will be happy to help you with your level four material, Harry.”

“Pass word along I said thank you. It's very much appreciated,” said Harry, “...and considering the Ministry is also now threatening to snap my wand the second I set foot on English soil again... that's fine with me.”

“Did they really?” Mr. Weasley looked angry.

“They did,” said Alice, with a frown, “The government is taking steps at this point—”

“Not that Harry really has to worry about that,” said Mazhe, with a smirk.

“True. My wand is sometimes a hindrance. So me studying independently will likely move things along a bit faster.”

Harry thought for a moment.

“If I ask for material above my year, is the Institute willing to provide it?”

“Of course. If you think you can handle the material, I don't think they'll have a problem with that, Harry,” answered Alice, “They are quite aware you're most certainly not an ordinary student.”

“Wish I was though.”

“We know, kiddo. We know,” said Sirius.

* * *

The beginning of September was rather strange for Harry, as for the first time in three years, he wasn't travelling to London to ride the Hogwarts Express. He'd dispatched an official letter to Dumbledore, informing him he would not be returning to the school, in response to the Ministry's action at the beginning of the summer. Sealing Harry's vaults had taken away any leverage Dumbledore had over him. There had been no response back from the headmaster, and Harry took that as a good thing.

September 5 brought more bad news, however. Sirius had petitioned the Wizengamot for parental rights—on the suggestion of Alice and Will—as doing so would give him the power to act in Harry's best interests, at least as his affairs in England went. As fate would have it, Dumbledore used his political clout within the governing body to deny the motion. Needless to say, Sirius wasn't the only person frustrated by the decision.

“It's not the end of the world, Harry,” Sirius promised, “No matter what, I'll always be there for you.”

“I know, Sirius, but Gods... they have to make it difficult.”

“The silver lining should come in a few days, though,” said Justin, “The Queen's Representative is addressing the ICW's main assembly tomorrow.”

“Queen's Representative? What sort of thing do they do?” Harry asked.

“-He- is the Commonwealth's official representative,” Justin explained, “Since we aren't a member of the ICW, it's a bit dicey, but we can certainly gain an audience and so on.”

“Are you guys the only country not in the ICW?”

“No. There are a few other magical countries who aren't, and for similar reasons to our own. Balmaria, for example, is a small republic in the Mediterranean. They have a mixed population, magical and Muggle. They renounced their membership in 1925.”

“And they hide like the Commonwealth does?”

“Yes, absolutely. Then there's Aquitania—a small nation hidden in western France. They've managed to hide themselves in an even more spectacular way. Ask Guardian Elaine about them, their technology is astounding. I mean, that's saying something, considering THEY don't have the Orb of Magnus.”

“So what can the Queen's Representative do for me though?” Harry asked.

“Draw international attention on a certain old man's meddling in your interests, Harry,” Alice answered, “It's the last sort of attention England would want, particularly considering what's already transpired this past summer.”

“Anyone else gonna attend this meeting?” Mazhe asked.

“Both the minister of Justice and the minister of Social Services will be attending, so yes, we'll get to see what happened.”

“Naturally, it's best if you weren't there in person, Harry,” said Sirius, “I think the Commonwealth has your best interests well in hand.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

_September 9, 2004_   
_Meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards_   
_Chinese Ministry of Magic_   
_Shanghai, People's Republic of China_

“Yes, yes, we have heard your arguments for the past twenty-eight meetings, Mr. Bashir, and we must once again repeat our answer. It is the right of the English Government to implement laws and regulations regarding what can and cannot be brought inside of its borders. May we move on?”

The Arabic businessman bowed humbly, and swept from the centre of the room.

The representative from the Canadian ministry rose from her seat.

“Fellow members, I turn the floor over to Grant Weyland, the Governor General for the Commonwealth of Valicadia.”

Dumbledore hadn't been paying too much attention at this point, given his mind was still on the quandary that was Harry Potter. The threat of him losing his inheritance had no effect. The boy was not returning to Hogwarts at this point—his absence had certainly not gone unnoticed.

The announcement from the Canadian representative got his attention, however. Valicadia? The rogue nation which had all but stolen Harry from England? The meeting now had his full attention, as the dark-skinned man stepped to the centre of the floor.

“What business do you have with the international body?” the representative from France questioned.

“The Commonwealth's business is regarding Harry Potter, an English ex-patriot who now resides within our borders.”

“The boy-who-lived,” said the representative.

“Harry Potter. I won't address him by anything other than his name, since we are all expected to maintain some level of decorum, are we not, madam representative?”

“Indeed, do forgive me.”

“Do continue,” said Dumbledore, leaning forward in his seat, now very interested in what the man might have to say.

The dark-skinned man looked back at Dumbledore, and smiled.

“Interesting that you wade into this, ah, conversation, Supreme-mugwump,” said Weyland, “Considering it is some of your actions which I am here to discuss.”

That caused a stir within the chamber.

“The Commonwealth of Valicadia has remained silent up to this point, not wishing to draw undue attention to itself and the subject of this interference. However, the issue has been pressed to a point where we have been forced to take steps.

“As the representative from the French Ministry has pointed out, Harry Potter is perhaps one of the most important people within the magical community. I will not go into detail on the reasons for his fame, for it is for the most part in the public record. However, I do wish to remind this body, he is a fourteen-year-old boy—a human being, and not some tool to be used and then discarded on the whim of the user.”

“Please get to the point,” said the representative from China.

“When Harry was six years old, the Commonwealth intervened and took him away from his relatives. They were charged with multiple counts of child abuse and neglect... the case file should be in front of you.”

Weyland watched as the numerous representatives picked up pages of paper which had suddenly appeared on the lecterns in front of them. There was muttering, as they began reading, but he pressed on.

“Since then, he has been a citizen of the Commonwealth. When he turned eleven, he was given the choice of whether to attend school within the Commonwealth, or attend school back in the country of his birth. Harry was somewhat apprehensive, but chose the latter.”

Weyland gave Dumbledore a glare, and looked down at the page of paper in front of him.

“Each year he has attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, the headmaster has taken a rather unhealthy interest in Mr. Potter. The end of first year, he attempted to cast a memory charm on him—a sworn statement should now be in front of you—and was informed he would be returned to his relatives. It should be noted, his relatives had been locked away in a non-magical prison for their crimes.”

“If this is true,” said the Canadian representative, “We have a conflict of interest. I must ask that the Supreme Mugwump be excluded from participating further in this session.”

“Seconded,” said the representative from Brazil.

“Very well. If it is the desire of this body, I relinquish my authority for this session to—”

“No, Professor. Din Sing Lu shall carry on, since they are the host nation for this proceeding,” said the French representative, sourly, “We know all too well the sort of games you might get up to, Professor Dumbledore.”

It took a few minutes for things to settle down, but finally Weyland was able to continue.

“The summer before Harry's second year, the English Wizengamot drafted and passed legislation which forced any student enrolled at Hogwarts to return to the school for the duration of their seven-year education, or risk the forfeit of any inheritance or monies, as well as the possible snapping of their wand and the binding of their magic.

“It is in our opinion this piece of legislation was specifically tailored for Mr. Potter, since the Commonwealth has been thus far been unable to confirm any instances where this has been enforced outside of Mr. Potter's particular situation.”

“It is in the right of nations to draft and pass legislation as they see fit,” said Sing Lu.

“I think we are lying to ourselves if we believe that to be realistic,” the Canadian representative challenged, “It's absurd to force an eleven-year-old child into something—are parents informed of this legislation?”

“A question I have to ask myself,” said Weyland, “I could certainly raise a few other examples such as this, but my point is quite clear. We are alarmed at the unhealthy amount of attention Albus Dumbledore—and by extension, the British ministry for magic—has for one Harry James Potter, one of our citizens. We are asking them to cease and desist this sort of activity, lest we have to resort to further measures. We _will_ protect our citizens, make no mistake.”

There was muttering about the room, as more than a few members gave Weyland glares and uncomfortable looks.

“Though I don't appreciate open threats, I do still have to ask this body, why is the English ministry so interested in interfering with another nation's business?” questioned the Brazilian representative.

“As do I,” said the French representative, “I resent the idea one nation would interfere with another's business.”

“Which is what the Commonwealth of Valicadia did in the first place, I must remind this body,” said Dumbledore, from the side bench, “Harry Potter was perfectly safe where he was—”

“Safe? You have to be MAD to believe that, professor,” said Weyland, giving the headmaster a scathing look, “Perhaps we should owl you some photographs of the place where he was sleeping when we found him. Would you consider a cupboard under the stairs a suitable sleeping arrangement, Professor?”

“That cannot be.”

“Oh, but it was. You put blinders on and pretend everything is fine, rather than facing the reality of the situation. I do have to wonder, what might have happened, had he been left in that environment until he received his letter. What sort of man would he have become?”

“These are indeed very dark questions, Mr. Weyland, questions which we will be asking in depth, I believe,” said the Brazilian representative, “We have already faced one Dark Lord in recent memory, we certainly don't wish to be facing another in a decade's time. The Confederation does somewhat frown on the action the Commonwealth took, however, it is most certainly mitigated by the outcome. Young Harry is doing well, I assume?”

“I am happy to report, he is doing very well at present, now receiving private tutoring in fourth-level material. He is in regular contact with friends he has made at Hogwarts, and he has a number of friends around him within the Commonwealth,” answered Weyland.

“That is all we could have asked for. The boy deserves a happy life.” The French representative glared at Dumbledore. “You fool, what is is you were trying to do? Mould another Dark Lord? Good grief, Albus!”

Weyland simply smiled. He'd said his piece, and now the Confederation would be asking questions of its own.

“Members of this Confederation. I thank you for your time, and should you require further information regarding this matter, you may owl or telephone our Ministry of Justice. The appropriate contact details have been included in the package now in front of you.” With a bow of the head, Weyland strode from the room confidently.

* * *

_ICW EXPELLS DUMBLEDORE  
May Face Charges for Conduct_

_After several key revelations during a rare appearance by the Commonwealth of Valicadia during yesterday's meeting of the international body, said body reacted by expelling the ageing headmaster from the international governing body, and revoking all credentials associated with it._

_An official press release from the Confederation states that, 'Due to an ongoing international investigation into the affairs of Mr. Dumbledore, it would be inappropriate for this body to allow him to retain any sort of position, lest it tarnish the objectivity of said body. His credentials may be reinstated once the investigation is concluded.'_

_Enquiries by the Daily Prophet have thus far remained unanswered, but a copy of the transcript of yesterday's session will be obtained early next week, by which time we will know exactly what has put the international body in such a state. However, it is known the headmaster has his fingers in many pies, so just perhaps, some of his dealings are not all they seem to be. Rest assured, dear readers, the Daily Prophet will continue to dig for the truth, and we will have it for you as soon as we have the details._

The buzz surrounding that particular meeting carried for nearly two weeks, but in the end, nothing came of it. Make no mistake, the headmaster carried a lot of political clout, and he most certainly used it to bury the scrutiny and accusations. He had been at the game a long time, and knew too well how to work the system to his advantage.

The international body, however, did not forgive or forget. There had been issues raised, and even if the party who brought the issue forward was not a member of the confederation, they brought forward valuable points. Unable to confirm nor deny the allegations, the body decided to play on the side of caution. If Magical England wanted to plant its head in the sand, stick their fingers in their ears and pretend nothing was going on, that was all fine. But there was no way in hell the international body was going to permit the individual in the middle of the scandal to sit in its ranks. That would only give ascent, saying the actions of the English magical government was acceptable—which they were certainly not.

* * *

_PETTIGREW ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN  
Person Responsible for Potters' Death Once Again at Large_

_A Ministry spokeswitch has confirmed that indeed, mass-murderer Peter Pettigrew has escaped from Azkaban. No other details are available at this time, other than a warning that this known Death Eater is once again at large, posing a dire threat to the citizens of Magical Britain._

_This reporter does have to wonder, why is it that, for the second year consecutive, a high-profile prisoner has managed to escape the prison, a feat previously believed impossible. One escape is too many, let alone a second. Perhaps it is time the Wizengamot convenes some sort of enquiry as to the workings and procedures within the prison, and perhaps... (see 'prevent', page 4)_

_Dementors: effective guards, or public menace? Editorial, Page 6_

_Sirius Black, Azkaban's first Escapee, page 4_

Harry wanted to bang his head on the table. “Gods, are they truly that incompetent?”

“They did know he was an Animagus, right?” said Mazhe. It was an early breakfast, as Harry was expected in Riften for 8 am for his weekly smithing lesson with Balimund and his apprentice.

“Incompetent fools, the lot of them. And they want me to save them?” Harry let out a snort.

“It's not just magical Britain you're saving, Harry,” said Justin, looking up from the notepad he was scribbling on.

“I know, I know. But... you'd think that... with the sworn statements, the testimony under Veritaserum... they'd remember that the man can change into a small animal of which the Dementors would have zero interest in whatsoever.”

“He likely slipped right between the bars, and that was the end of it,” said Sirius, “He likely waited for the boat to show up, and he was scott-free.”

“What d'you think he'll do? Your best guess?”

“Find his master. He bears the Dark Mark.”

“Sirius... you mind getting Harry and his friends to Riften this morning? I need to get back to Trevelyan for the morning, make sure Alice and Will know what's going on,” said Justin.

“I think we can manage.”

“Good. I'll hook up with you guys this afternoon at the Ragged Flagon.”

“If you run into Remus, let him know what's going on as well—though knowing him, he'll probably already know.”

“Sure.”

Justin stood up, and stuffed the notepad into his satchel, and shoved his baseball cap on backwards.

“I'll see you guys this afternoon.” He activated the floo, and vanished.

“Right. Best finish up then,” Harry muttered, turning back to his breakfast, although he wasn't hungry anymore. The news had killed his appetite. He pushed the plate aside. “You guys ready to go?”

“If you are.”

Harry stood up, blew out a breath, then shouldered his satchel.

“Good. A distraction might be good right now, I think.”

“No, you need to focus on your lessons, Harry. Last thing you need is to hurt yourself because you're not paying attention.”

“Which means I'll not be thinking of the fact that the traitor who betrayed my parents is once again running around free!”

* * *

_Ron and Hermione,_

_Glad to hear the school year has gotten off to an okay start for you guys. Sounds like you guys have lucked out again for a good DADA professor—though I do have to wonder what was he thinking, demonstrating unforgivable curses in the classroom. Sounds a bit dodgy pulling something like that, retired Auror or not._

_The Tri-wizard tournament sounds fantastic! Although, knowing my luck, I would have probably been sucked into it somehow or other, even though I'm not of age. Maybe I might come and see the tasks when they happen. Let me know beforehand, if you don't mind so I have a chance to make arrangements with my handlers (did I just call them that? I don't really mean it that way, but you know what I mean). Besides, I'd love to meet people from other schools. That's the spirit of the competition, isn't it?_

_The past month has been pretty busy from my end. On top of my regular fourth-year course load, I also teach two classes at the College, and I have four additional lessons of non-magical nature outside of the College—that's on top of the non-magical classes I'm already taking. I would be in grade nine if I were actually attending a school in the Commonwealth._

_I do miss being in class with you guys, but really, I can't afford the distractions involved with being at Hogwarts. I have a destiny to fulfil—something I can't fail—and that means I need all the training and lessons I can get, something's that won't happen at Hogwarts. Dumbledore won't allow that sort of thing. Meanwhile, Sirius, Remus, Justin, and my guardians have been very busy setting out lessons and so on._

_That said, let me know when the next Hogsmeade weekend is, and I'll be sure to take a day and come spend time with you guys. We could meet up at the Three Broomsticks for a round of butterbeers... Balls, better wrap this up. I think Justin just came through the floo._

_Miss you both,_

_Harry_

* * *

_Harry,_

_Our first Hogsmeade visit will be in November, so lots of time to plan before. But Ron and I, as well as the twins would love to see you. Ron insisted on showing them your letter, he was certain you wouldn't mind... and I guess it's all right—though they do make a lot of trouble. I really wish you hadn't sent them that gift certificate for Zonko's, they're a nightmare at times!_

_What kind of classes are you teaching at the College now? Are they the same as last year? Do your students give you grief because of your age? I still can't wrap my head around that, Harry... good grief._

_How are you handling your schedule? I'm probably going to regret mentioning this, but have you thought about requesting a time-turner? The Ministry is quite restrictive on who gets to use one, but you would likely qualify, given your unique circumstances. And the Commonwealth likely has a different set of rules and regulations regarding the use of one. Mention it to Sirius and see what he has to say about it._

_What kinds of things are you learning that are 'non-magical in nature'? Is it something being taught by the Commonwealth, or something you're learning in Skyrim? I'll understand if you can't say, but I'm just curious. All the same, it sounds like you're far busier than I was last year, and like I said, a time-turner would make it easier._

_Glad to hear your fourth year is turning out to be a relatively quiet one, if perhaps busy. Hope to hear from you soon,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_October 8, 2004 / 8 Frostfall, 4E199_

Harry had never been to Morthal before. It was the capital of Hjaalmarch, a marshy hold in the northwestern part of the province. The reason for the trek: Falion, a master conjurer, had gotten word of the strange soul-container Harry had encountered two years prior, and expressed interest in examining it. After careful examination by several branches of the government, the Commonwealth believed it was a Horcrux, some truly dark magic, and something not easily destroyed.

They arrived in town by carriage just before lunch time, and Mazhe wasted no time leading the group to the Moorside Inn where they could get something to eat, and meet up with Falion.

“Welcome, welcome! What can I get you fine folk?” spoke a dark-skinned woman behind the counter. The inn was very much similar to the Frozen Hearth back in Winterhold, with about as many people—meaning one could count them on one hand.

“Bottles of ale, and whatever you would suggest for lunch, if you please,” Mazhe answered, pushing a fistful of coins across the counter.

“Good to see you again, Mazhe.”

“Likewise. Friends, this is Jonna, the inn's proprietor. Jonna, this is Justin and Harry. We've come from Winterhold.”

“Well. Grab a seat by the fire, get yourselves all warmed up. Winter's setting in early this year, by the feel of things,” said Jonna, as she pulled a few bottles from under the counter.

“Don't mind if I do,” Justin muttered, pulling his hands out of the pockets of his jacket. “Hate winter.”

“This one then wonders why he is in a place such as Skyrim,” one of the few other patrons asked, turning around. He was a Khajiit with tabby markings, and what could resemble a moustache of sorts. He regarded the group with yellow eyes.

“Blame him,” Justin answered, gesturing to Harry.

Harry only grinned, and took a seat at the fire, with Justin quick to take up the spot to his right. Mazhe took the spot on his left.

While they ate, Justin shifted uncomfortably several times, feeling the stares of the other patrons. Unlike Harry, he didn't change his wardrobe to suit the locals, and so his outfit most certainly stood out—jeans, a heavy jumper knit by Mrs. Weasley (maroon with a golden 'J'), and his school varsity jacket. The only thing he wore which actually blended in was a pair of leather boots he had bought from Tonilia. Mazhe had let him try on his boots, and Justin instantly fell in love with them. He knew they were Guild-issued equipment, but Harry was more than happy to cover the cost, seeing Justin as one of his close friends at that point.

“Mazhe. You made the trip without incident?” The group looked up to see a dark-skinned man step into the inn.

“Good to see you, Falion.”

“And you brought your friend with you?” Falion looked confused, seeing the others with him.

“Falion. This is Justin and Harry. It is Harry, or more specifically, the item he encountered two summers ago you'll be interested in,” said Mazhe, standing. “Harry, show him the journal.”

“Right.” Harry dug in his satchel, and pulled out the offensive book, and held it out for the man. Falion gripped it, and looked momentarily puzzled.

“Very strange magic. If you are just about done, we might take this somewhere less public, lest there be unforeseen circumstances from my experiments.”

It was a fifteen-minute hike outside of town and three encounters with the wildlife before they arrived at what looked like a stone circle. Mazhe was already well-experienced with that sort of thing, but the others had not seen anything like it before.

“It's a summoning circle,” Mazhe explained, “Magical casting is amplified in a place like this.”

“Indeed it is,” Falion agreed, “Now, I would ask all of you to remain outside of the circle.”

He placed the journal at the centre of the circle, and gestured at it.

“Very powerful magic was cast on this book... very dark magic. You believe a soul is imbued within it?”

“A fragment, yes,” said Justin, “In our world, this is some of the worst magic.”

“In some circles, it is considered evil here, too,” said Falion. “However, the legality of doing it is not the issue at hand, are we not in agreement? The better question, is how to undo that sort of magic.”

Falion glanced at Justin.

“You know of our soul gems here, of course.”

“Yeah. I've seen Mazhe use them enough.”

“Have you seen one like this?”

Falion reached into his satchel, and drew out what looked like an elongated obsidian crystal.

“Is it—” Mazhe began.

“Yes. A black soul gem,” Falion finished.

“The only soul gem capable of trapping the soul of a humanoid victim,” Mazhe explained, wide-eyed. Both Justin and Harry looked disturbed at the notion.

“Now. I think it might be possible to trap the soul in this—” Falion indicated the black soul gem, “From there it's only a matter of consuming the soul gem normally.”

“What happens to the soul?” Harry asked.

“There are many debates on what actually happens, but a strong theory is that it is sent to a place called the _Soul Cairn_ , a plane of Oblivion, where they are trapped for eternity.(5)”

“Then let's give it a shot. No harm in trying.”

“Indeed.” Falion thrust a hand at the book, and a purple blast of energy flared to impact with it. The book was momentarily encased in the purple shade.

“Mazhe. The strongest destructive spell you can manage.”

“Right.” Mazhe brought his hands together and an orange ball formed between them. He flung it at the book, while Falion held the soul gem in front of him. The ball of magic impacted with the book, resulting in a brilliant flash, and a terrible screech, as the cursed object burst into flames.

A terrible black shade immediately sprung from the burning book, resulting in shield charms and wards being produced in an instant. However, there was little to fear, as the black soul gem was already calling to the shade, the net already being cast. There was nowhere else for the shade to go, and it was drawn into the obsidian-like crystal with little resistance.

“Most peculiar,” Falion noted, as he passed the now filled soul gem to Mazhe. Mazhe reached into his satchel and pulled out a small bag.

“How much for the soul gem? I know they are expensive.”

“A hundred Septims, since this was academic on my part.”

“Let me cover it,” said Harry, reaching into his own satchel. Mazhe put his bag away, while Harry began counting out coins. It was a good thing he now had a weightless charm placed on his satchel; carrying around a lot of coin had been overbearing at times.

Mazhe, meanwhile, pulled a dagger from his satchel. From the look of it, Harry knew it was made of Ebony, a dark, and very difficult metal to work with.

“The enchantments on it make it extra effective against the Draugr and other undead,” Mazhe explained, as he held it in front of him. He then pressed the soul gem to the dagger, and it seemed to melt into the steel. A final, horrible cry seemed to emanate from the weapon.

“Even more peculiar,” said Falion, “I've never come across a soul gem doing something like that before.”

“This... makes things much more difficult,” said Justin, with a sour expression. “Knowing what we know about Voldemort, it's likely not the only one he's made. Guys... we'd better get back to the Commonwealth.”

“Falion... here's a bit of extra coin for your help... and we'd ask that you not mention this for now. It's for Harry's safety,” said Mazhe, producing a small bag of coins.

“Ah, of course, I understand. You have my word then.”

* * *

_21 Frostfall_

Returning to the Hall of Attainment after his afternoon classes, he found Justin had once again occupied the table in their room with open books, and notes. There were also several objects, one of which he had in pieces. Of course, Harry had seen much of this before, considering it was Justin's major project, the focus of most of his adult life thus far. He was so very close to earning his doctorate.

“You finally made it work?” Harry asked, simply.

“The cross-dimensional thing was a difficult nut to crack, that was for sure. I finally had some time with the Orb this morning, took me all of five minutes to sort things out. The Minister was more than impressed, says I can look forward to a significant pay bonus at the end of the month... and the university wants a final summary next week.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Justin smirked, bowing low.

“You're spending too much time around Mazhe.”

“Says the one who grew up around him.”

Harry only rolled his eyes, and smirked right back.

* * *

_October 31, 2004/31 Frostfall, 4E199  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry_

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out - "Harry Potter."(3)

* * *

_Boardwalk Hall, Atlantic City, New Jersey_

Justin had tried his best to explain exactly what mixed martial arts was, but Harry was still somewhat confused. Boxing, he'd heard of. Martial arts? It was still out in left field. But Justin had been given the tickets—part of a bonus for his recent work, and Harry didn't mind joining his friend—after all, up to this point, the dark-haired guy hadn't shared a whole lot about himself.

The fights were brutal. That was the simple word. It was a caged-in octagonal platform, where two opponents attacked each other with what seemed like very few rules of conduct—at least in Harry's opinion. One guy in particular was almost primal with his rage, carving a swath through every opponent he faced. Or perhaps it was the will to win. After all, five million American dollars was nothing to snuff at.

The last match of the tournament was taking place, Tommy Riordan versus Brendan Conlon. Tommy had been the rage-fuelled fighter who had been brutal and merciless with all who faced him. The other, meanwhile, had a much tougher go of it, relying on a different set of skills to accomplish the same end.

“Shor's balls, never have I seen such violence,” said Mazhe, shaking his head, as the fourth round was coming to a close. “I've killed many, but never left someone in such shape as those two are in presently.”

“Agreed. If I were in that condition, I believe I would wish for death,” said Harry. A privacy charm had been erected so their conversation wouldn't be heard—not that it was truly necessary, considering the noise around them.

“You both have to remember, we have magic on our side, those two don't,” Justin reminded. He reached into his satchel, and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid.

“Justin!”

“What?”

“It's illegal isn't it?”

“I don't think many people are gonna really notice.” Justin popped the cork, and took a long swig.

“Mental, that one is,” Harry muttered, turning his attention back to the cage.

“Mazhe...”

“Sure.” Justin passed the bottle over, and Mazhe also took a long swig of the amber liquid.

“Better than whatever horse piss they're peddling here, I think.”

Justin laughed.

“Gotta take you guys to a hockey game sometime.”

“Is it as violent as this? I'm doubting my choice here, mate.”

“Oh come on, Harry, it's brilliant—ouch.”

Harry thought he heard the horrible crunch, as cartilage was torn. Brendan had pulled Tommy's shoulder out of its socket just as the horn sounded to end the round.

“ _Mey kendov_!(1)” Harry muttered, “Why won't he quit?! _Dar los nax_!”

“Harry, that's confusing,” said Justin.

“It... feels right about now. _Krosis_.” Harry paused, then whispered, “ _Aaz ko viik_.” However, 'viik' came out rather strange, and Harry swore he felt a surge of energy well out through his mouth. The pair of combatants in opposite corners of the cage actually looked over to where he was sitting, confused.

“Harry?”

“What was that?”

“Viik,” said Harry, although this time it came out normally. “It means defeat.”

“Defeat... _VIIK_!” said Mazhe. The floor actually shook as the harsh tone of his voice carried above the crowd. The arena fell silent, and the group felt every eye swivel in their direction.

* * *

_High Hrothgar, Throat of the World_

As it was late in the evening the four aged men known as the Greybeards were about to retire for the night. As master Arngeir began to settle down in his bed, he heard the faint word through the wind: 'viik'... Defeat, in the dragon tongue. A word of power. The power of the voice. Even as faint as it had been, Arngeir felt it wash over him.

“ _Dragonborn_ ,” he whispered.

That raised a terrible question. Why now? The end times were near, this much was known. The ancient prophecy surrounding the return of Alduin was well-recorded, and given the rising unrest between Ulfric Stormcloak and the Empire, all the pieces were falling into place. If it was truly a Dragonborn, the signs couldn't be more clear.

* * *

“So let's review.” It was a group of ten individuals now dressed in rather familiar black robes, for now without the tell-tale masks which had recently instilled fear back into the Wizarding world. They were meeting in a small room in the underbelly of the facility. The crowd noise easily permeated the walls and ceiling—that included the strange shout of 'viik', which had them all muttering a moment.

“We know the target's in the cage.”

“We'll wait until they're finished. Capture is best conducted back in his locker room, fewer people around. Baker and Lewis are heading there now.”

“Morton and Carter, take the locker tunnel, out of sight. Rest of you, we wait 'till the match is over. Once the target's in the tunnel, we start our diversion. No killing!”

A chorus of “Yes sir” followed.

* * *

“Bloody hell, Mazhe!”

“Uh, ditto,” said Justin, staring at their friend, wide-eyed. Harry's had come out a bit loud, but Mazhe's had come out as a roar, as if he had screamed it at the top of his lungs. For several moments, one could hear a pin drop in the packed arena.

“Sorry. But... Harry, did you, uh, feel anything strange, when you... shouted?”

“A surge of power, yeah. But...”

The noise level had quickly returned, and no further thought was given on the matter, as the two opponents squared off again, although Tommy had momentarily locked eyes with Harry just before. Tommy knew he was looking into the eyes of another warrior—emerald eyes which blazed with fury. A teenager as dangerous as he was.

As the fight grew more vicious, Harry felt a strange warm sensation wash over him from head to toe. He knew it was magical in nature, and whatever it was, it likely didn't mean anything good for him.

“Harry?”

“Just... never mind... I'll tell you later—” Harry again winced, as Brendan slammed his opponent to the floor. It was all or nothing, and neither were willing to surrender to the other. Tommy was almost surreal, working with a dislocated shoulder. His face betrayed the crushing pain he was in, but he pushed onward, not giving an inch.

And then, it was over. Brendan had Tommy in a vice-like submission hold, cutting off the guy's airway. It was simple. Submit, or pass out from lack of oxygen. Tommy thrashed about on the floor, but the older man's grip held, and finally, mercifully, the younger man conceded. Incredibly, the pair were instantly in a tight embrace, on their knees, in the middle of the cage.

“They... knew each other,” Mazhe whispered.

“No. Family. Brothers,” said Harry, quietly. Perhaps, that was the strange sensation he felt earlier. He stared at the pair, still locked in a tight embrace, their demons clearly exorcised here on this night. Harry now understood completely, as the crowd continued to explode around them in a frenzy of cheers.

A blast of red light overhead caught the group off guard.

“Balls!” Harry cursed, “Justin! Emergency port key!”

“Digging for it.”

He yanked out what looked like a tennis ball.

“Fingers on the port key, we go in ten.”

CRASH! A red bolt of energy slammed into the ceiling, bringing down several high-intensity lights, and some of the insulation. The crowd scattered in all directions, trying to get clear of the falling debris. A few did not make it. A green bolt of magic blasted from the opposite side of the arena, to slam into a wall, blasting chunks of it in all directions.

“Death eaters,” Harry whispered.

“NO! Harry, no, we're leaving!”

“Not this time,” Harry vowed, “C'mon, we've got to help. Justin, ring the Ministry, let them know what's going on.”

“All right, all right.”

Justin glanced at the cage, where it had been stormed by various officials and so on. He tapped the port key once, and pocketed it again.

A streak of purple flame was coming straight for them. Mazhe produced a strong ward shield, deflecting the dangerous spell into the ceiling, bringing down more debris.

“Not good. Would've left nasty scars,” Justin grimaced. Another streak of purple flame penetrated the cage, sending two people crumpling to the floor: one of the medics, and a security member.

“Harry... see to the people in the cage,” said Mazhe, “We'll cover you.”

“Make your shots count. They... had to know we were here.”

Another blast of green magic soared overhead, to strike a member of the security team. He collapsed in a heap.

“Jesus Christ,” Justin swore, a hand shakily retrieving his mobile. He keyed in 9-1-1, and was forced to again duck, as another bolt of red magic blazed overhead. 'reductor curses', he realized.

“Aurors or healers?” came the voice on the other end.

“Auror department. I'm calling from—”

“Boardwalk Hall, Atlantic City, United States. Outside of the Commonwealth? Credentials?”

“Justin Fraser, Ministry of Technomancy. Reporting a Death Eater attack at a non-magical event. Need Aurors, alert the American Department of Magic, we'll need—” Justin had to duck again as another blast of magic missed him by a foot. “--Need Accidents and Magical Catastorphies, Obliviators Office... wake Muggleworthy Excuse Committee, we'll likely need them to start working right away.”

“Just take a breath, Mr. Fraser. Authorities are on the way. Is there anyone hurt?”

“Unforgivables being cast, numerous dead. Lots of injuries.”

“Help is on the way. Get yourself to a safe location, can you do that?”

“Uh, we'll try. You need to know, I'm here with Harry Potter.”

“Get yourselves to a safe location.”

Harry, meanwhile, had made it into the cage, wand drawn, and a strong shield produced with the other. Mazhe was right behind him, having also produced a shield of his own.

“Look out!” Another ugly stream of purple flame was deflected up toward the ceiling. It impacted with a rack of lights, and they came loose, threatening to crush those below it. Harry now had no choice, but to cast a banishing charm. It crashed into a heap at the far end of the auditorium, the noise echoing loudly in the barrel-shaped room.

“Right. The lot of you are sitting ducks,” said Harry.

“Thank you, captain obvious,” said one of the security members.

“You and you... hold his arm,” said Harry, gesturing to Tommy's dislocated shoulder.

“What for?”

“I'll help fix it. It's gonna hurt like hell, but...”

“Just do it,” Tommy hissed, setting himself for whatever pain he was about to experience. Brendan and a medic gripped his arm, and Harry drew his wand.

“Obliviators office's gonna be busy tonight,” Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the inflamed injury. “ _Episkey_.”

White-hot pain surged through Tommy's injured shoulder. It was as if someone were again trying to rip it off completely... and then... it was as if it hadn't happened at all.

“What... what are you?”

“Someone you shouldn't know about. Can you get up?”

“Look out!” Another blast of red magic was barreling straight for them. This time it was Mazhe's shield deflecting it up into the ceiling. Another piece of equipment was knocked loose, and it now hung dangerously from only two brackets still intact.

“ _REDUCTO_!” Harry roared, sending a bolt of red magic of his own in the direction of the attack. It smashed into the seating, knocking pieces in all directions.

“Death Eaters. Never thought... come on, the lot of you.”

“The locker room. Got MP's waiting for my anyhow,” said Tommy.

“With guns. Good, let's go.”

“Harry?” Justin had joined them. “These guys... they're not Death Eaters. This is too-well scripted. Keeping to cover, concentrated attack—” Another blast of red magic impacted with the side of the cage, sending part of it collapsing to the floor and forcing everyone to the side.

“Watch out... _REDUCTO_!” Justin roared, blasting away another section of the cage, and clearing the way to the arena floor. “Everyone stay close. Harry take one side, Mazhe the other.”

Tommy tried to stand up, but was nailed with a strong bout of vertigo.

“Here.” Brendan helped him to his feet, and allowed his brother to lean on him.

“Who are you people?” questioned an older man who was then helping Brendan with Tommy.

“I'm Harry, this is Mazhe and Justin. We're from the Commonwealth of Valicadia... and honestly, you shouldn't know that.” They were negotiating the debris-covered stairs leading down from the cage.

“Our government will speak to all of you before your memories are altered, and you won't remember a thing about us.”

“Mind healers... Justin, we'll need to bring in mind-healers. They shouldn't remember this mess at all.”

“You can just erase our memories?” Tommy was clearly uncomfortable about the idea.

“It won't hurt, I promise that. How's your arm feeling?” Harry questioned.

“Better. Thanks.”

“Only fair... having to do this with your arm out of its socket... ouch. I've had to endure it, know what it feels like.”

He looked at Harry with swollen eyes. “Your healing magic or whatever—” He felt Brendan falter, and almost went over himself.

“Shit,” Justin cursed. Brendan lay on the floor, face frozen with his mouth half-open, as though about to ask a question.

“Brendan?”

“Tommy? Look at me.”

“Brendan?!”

BANG! A chunk of the wall exploded, showering the retreating group with debris. Mazhe simply grabbed Tommy in a bear-like grip, and stormed down the pathway.

“Come on!”

Another blast of green magic felled one of the security detail.

“This was a bright idea, Harry,” said Justin, sarcastically.

“Here. Gods...” He cupped his hands together.

KAWHACK! The ice spike impaled one of the black-robed attackers, and they crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain. A second impacted his chest, and the wizard did not get up. The others, however, were concentrating their fire on the group. Harry and Justin pulled up the rear, blocking the angry bolts of magic, doing the best to protect the group. In the end, all but one of the security detail had been felled by terrible magic, as they at last vanished into the tunnel. Justin pointed his wand at the ceiling near the entrance. “REDUCTO!”

The bolt of red magic slammed into the ceiling of the tunnel, bringing it down in a shower of dust and concrete. Harry quickly joined him, effectively blocking the corridor. At this point, Mazhe could do little else, having Tommy slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He had passed out from the emotional shock.

“Stop. Everyone stop a minute,” said Harry. “Justin, your port key. We can't do anything here.”

“I agree with Harry. Where... hold on,” said Mazhe. They had arrived at the entrance to the locker room, and Harry didn't like the feeling he was getting.

“Locker room.”

“Military Police should be waiting for Tommy,” said the older man.

“Should, but aren't. We keep moving,” Mazhe said. “Where's this tunnel go?”

“Private access... shipping and receiving,” said the one security guard still with them.

“We need to go—what in God's name is that?” A moderately loud rumble came, and the ground actually shook, dislodging some of the ceiling tiles. The lights flickered momentarily, and went out.

* * *

_Ministry of Defence, Department of Information_

Mrs. Trent was not a happy individual. Sunday was her day off, and yet, here she was, in the office, which was now alive with the full compliment of staff. The entire Department of Defence was in full compliment at that time. The Minister himself was in the war room along with the executive branch of the government.

“Came in about ten minutes ago, ma'am. Justin Fraser, warned us Mr. Potter was with him. Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City. Auror Department is scrambling, so are our American and Canadian counterparts. American non-magical authorities are also responding,” reported an agent from his workstation.

The large view screen at the front of the room now had a large red spot glowing on the location in question, a zoomed in map of North America. Additional images were pulled up, one of them a very recent satellite photograph, courtesy the NSA's satellite system.

“Can we be certain this is the work of Death Eaters?”

“No, ma'am. Magical detectors have detected a lot of very nasty spell work, including unforgivable curses.”

“What do we know about the venue?”

“Hosting SPARTA, a mixed martial arts event over the weekend, it was just wrapping up tonight,” answered another agent.

Mrs. Trent's face went tight, and she frowned heavily.

“Who was involved in this 'event'?”

“Final match? Two brothers apparently—”

“Brendan and Thomas Conlon,” Mrs. Trent finished, a sense of dread filling her head. “Get in touch with Commander McAllister. I want him in my office, _yesterday_.”

“Yes ma'am.”

* * *

“ _Lumos_ ,” said Justin, and a bright light bloomed from the end of his wand.

“Gods, felt like the roof come in,” said Mazhe, uneasily.

“Port key. Right now,” Justin insisted, “What we should have done in the first place.”

“Shut up,” Harry growled, “Let's get the hell out of here before we're buried alive.”

Justin cast a hurt look at Harry, before collecting a chunk of debris. Given the larger number of people, he needed a larger object. He was about to touch his wand to it, when there came an explosion of water out of the ceiling.

“What in the world...” Mazhe was confused, as he was instantly drenched by the unexpected shower.

“Sprinkler system,” Justin answered. “One of you mind making a light while I do this?”

“Got it.”

Mazhe flung his hand at the ceiling, and a yellow-tinted light bathed the corridor. Tommy was waking up, and he began squirming again in Mazhe's grip.

“ _Portus_ ,” Justin whispered, causing the chunk of concrete to glow blue.

“Tommy, listen to me. Keep it together a few minutes so we can get out of here,” said the older guy. The pair's eyes met, and Tommy nodded. The water flooding from the ceiling had drenched him and Mazhe as well.

“Sit down. Not the best way to take a port key, but it'll be safer,” said Justin.

Mazhe put Tommy down. The guy was going into shock from the emotional trauma.

“Put a hand on the piece of debris. It's gonna get us out of here.” Harry was already doing so, as was Justin and Mazhe.

“Where are we going by the way?”

“College of Winterhold.”

“Justin, no, it's—”

Too late, the group was disappearing in a whirl of limbs. Not too late, however, for a green bolt of magic to impact with one of the passengers.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was silently and inwardly smirking to himself. If Harry Potter believe he had outsmarted the aged wizard, he was sadly mistaking. The boy's name had come out of the goblet. It was just a matter of delivering the sad news, and he would be back within the castle's walls, back under his careful direction.

His thoughts were interrupted, as he found his deputy at the door.

“Albus, I was just listening to the Wireless. There's been a Death Eater attack in America.”

“Is that so?”

“Nearly a hundred Muggles killed, hundreds more injured. The Dark Mark has been sighted, this is really serious.”

“Oh dear... I'd best make my way to the Ministry. Please continue to try and reach Harry, we do need him to return to the school sooner rather than later.”

“I will indeed keep at it. I have dispatched an owl to the Commonwealth, as well as owls to Potter himself, and his godfather. He will turn up sooner rather than later, Albus.”

“Then I leave the school in your hands, Minerva.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Fallout from the attack in Atlantic City; Harry reacts poorly from the message he receives from Dumbledore about the Tournament; and, though Harry is forced into the tournament, the Commonwealth provides a possible solution to accommodations, much to Dumbledore's frustration._   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: No. Harry IS NOT the Dragonborn. He will likely learn a few words, but learning how to shout vs being able to do it naturally are two different things._   
> _I'd not planned on having any significant combat scenario come up, but given the timing of certain things, this needed to happen. It's a given that at least a few people will be requiring the services of a mind-healer. And, naturally, what happens when Tommy and Harry discover who is truly responsible for this mess?_   
> _(1) Mey kendov – Fool[ish] warrior._   
> _(2) Dar los nax – This is cruelty._   
> _(3) Now you guys KNEW this was coming, right? Naturally, verbatim, from “Goblet of Fire”._   
> _(4) Aaz ko viik – Mercy from defeat_   
> _(5) Soul Cairn – Introduced in the 'Dawnguard' Expansion, but is now definitely part of the Elder Scrolls lore._


	10. The Reluctant Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallout from the attack in Atlantic City; Harry reacts poorly from the message he receives from Dumbledore about the Tournament; and, though Harry is forced into the tournament, the Commonwealth provides a possible solution to Harry remaining in the castle, much to Dumbledore's frustration.

# 10: THE RELUCTANT CHAMPION

**November 1 – 8, 2004**

* * *

“Good of you to come, Commander,” said Mrs. Trent, her face still taught. “Tell me, did you clear any sort of operation with this office involving a non-magical target within foreign borders?”

“I'm sorry?”

“Sorry. You're _sorry_? Or is it that you're not understanding?”

Mrs. Trent slammed a stack of papers on the table in front of him.

“Why don't you have a look at the brief.”

Brandon opened the folder, and quickly scanned the first few pages in front of him and made a face, up to this point still confused as to exactly what was going on.

“This for real?”

“You tell _me_ , Commander. It was your little project I helped conduct an investigation for in September.”

“I did instruct Lieutenant Commander Jorgan to assemble a detail.”

“Which then did THIS.”

Mrs. Trent slammed a recent satellite photograph on the table. It clearly displayed the plume of smoke rising from a location in Atlantic City.

“The government is up in arms, Commander! American mundanes, hundreds of them, witnessed _magic_ this evening! Dozens were killed, many were seriously _wounded_. The American Department of Magic and the Canadian Ministry of Magic are both demanding answers... what are we supposed to tell them?!”

“I... I don't know, ma'am.”

“I. Don't. Know. To HELL you don't, Commander! The Queen is demanding answers! Were you aware Mr. Potter was attending the event?! He could have been _killed_!”

“Please tell me he's okay.”

“We're still out of contact. And believe me when I tell you, should he be among the casualties, I will hold you personally responsible. For now, you will be visiting with her majesty to answer for this. Be lucky if you survive with only a demotion.”

Mrs. Trent took a deep breath to calm herself.

“As it stands. You will submit all documents and other such media detailing this planned action on my desk no later than tomorrow at the close of regular business hours. That includes the names of all those who are working on this action. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Consider yourself dismissed.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

It was a very subdued Commander who left the irate department head's office.

* * *

The large group landed rather roughly in the common room of Harry's rooms in the Hall of Attainment. Tommy landed in a heap on top of Harry's trunk, sending a pile of items scattering in all directions. The others landed no easier, one of them in fact landing on Sirius' bed.

“Shor's balls,” Harry muttered, realizing they'd not made it in one piece. The old man was dead.

“Justin, get back to the Commonwealth, make sure they know we're okay... and bring someone to deal with these guys,” said Mazhe, from a sitting position on the floor.

“Here. My satchel. Should be a fistful of calming draughts inside,” said Justin, pulling his satchel off his shoulder, and retrieving his government credentials from inside. He left it on the table.

“Where... where is this place?” Tommy asked, trying to sit up.

“Ditto,” said another of the group. Clearly, everyone was quite disoriented from the trip.

“Just sit down. Stay where you are. Gods, this is... I can't describe this.”

“Harry, I'm so sorry,” said Justin, turning Harry to face him, “If I'd known—“

Harry blew out a breath, trying to relax. The events which had unfolded in a matter of minutes... were above and beyond what he'd already experienced. That was saying something, considering the numerous bandits, rogue mages, and other such encounters over the years in Skyrim.

“I... it's not your fault.”

“Still, we should've just got the hell out,” said Mazhe, “This was... Gods... I'll always have your back, Harry, but you have to pick your fights. This... tonight... wasn't your fight.”

“When WOULD it be my fight, Mazhe?! When I'm old and grey? And meanwhile these guys just keep killing and maiming and destroying. And where the hell was the Ministry... or the Commonwealth for that matter?!” Harry erupted.

“I'm sure we'll have some answers shortly. I'll be back soon.” Justin activated the floo. “Ministry of Defence!” and he was gone in the green flames.

“This is so messed up,” said Tommy, pulling his knees up to his chest. “What... what the hell was that?”

“Just be ready for the unbelievable,” said Mazhe, daring to approach the young warrior. “I'm Mazhe.”

“Tommy. Tommy Riordan.”

“What happens to us?” questioned another member of the group.

“The Ministry of Magical Catastrophes will be brought in within the next hour or so. Your memories will be adjusted, and you'll all be sent on your merry way. At least that's what I understand. I've not had to deal with... this,” said Harry.

He blew out a breath, then gestured a hand at the door leading out into the rest of the tower, sealing it off.

“He's using magic,” Mazhe explained, seeing Tommy's confusion.

“Real magic? Right.”

“How do you explain your no-longer-injured shoulder?”

“I, uh...” Tommy banged his head against the stone wall. “God, this is so messed up.”

“Harry, we could give them all dreamless sleep potions,” Mazhe suggested.

“No. Awkward way of sending someone by floo powder,” answered Harry, with a shake of the head.

“Floo powder... that's what the other guy did... a few minutes ago,” Tommy guessed.

“Exactly.”

“You're cold.” It wasn't a question. “Here.”

Harry pulled open his trunk, and dug out the jumper Mrs. Weasley had made for him the previous Christmas.

“I'll need it back, one of my friends' mums knit it for me and gave it to me for Christmas.”

“Where's your mom?”

“She died protecting me from similar people who attacked us this evening,” answered Harry, with a weak smile. “I lived because she died.”

Tommy looked at the ground, feeling bad for asking the question. He slid the jumper on over his head, then looked at his gloves.

“Uh... d'you mind, giving me a hand with these?”

“Oh.” Harry simply gestured with a hand, and his gloves vanished, to instantly appear in his lap. Another gesture of the hand, and the miles of white tape instantly vanished, to land in a pile beside him. And yet another gesture banished the mess into the fireplace.

“Jesus. You know how long it takes me to do that?”

“Hours?”

“Maybe not hours, but...” Tommy simply shook his head. Everything he knew was turned on its head. It was that simple. Given, he was likely not going to remember any of this by morning, but it didn't mean he didn't appreciate what the teen-aged wizard was doing.

“I'm curious to know... what did you do... just before the match ended?” It was the referee.

“Completely forgot about that,” said Mazhe, and Harry gave a nod, again thankful for the distraction. Reality was still not fully set in for Tommy. His brother was gone, and the realization was going to be a painful one.

“I don't know what it was, really,” Harry answered, “It's a different language. Watching you fight your... um, fight your opponent earlier, it was brutal. _Mey kendov_ —Foolish warrior.”

“We had to do it... there was—”

“Things to sort out,” Harry guessed. That got a sad nod from the fighter.

“But... kid... that wasn't what made the... we... I felt it in my bones when... he shouted,” said the referee.

“I think the entire arena heard him,” said Harry, “He's known to be loud sometimes.”

“Hey! I resent that!” Mazhe mock-retorted. “Seriously, we don't know exactly what it was. _Viik_...”

“Defeat,” Harry translated.

“What kind of language?” asked another of the group.

“A language spoken by dragons, a long time ago,” Harry explained. He got very doubtful looks in return.

“They no longer exist. This was thousands of years ago.” A half-truth, but it would suffice for now.

“Good to know, I guess.”

The flames in the fireplace roared to life, and Justin stepped out of the flames.

“Harry, need to add a blanket access rule for now, Aurors from the Valicadia Ministry of Justice.”

“Got it.”

Harry went over to the fireplace, and modified the access list to accommodate the Aurors. Seconds later, the fireplace roared to life again, this time expelling two crimson-robed Aurors.

“'evening, Mr. Potter. None of you were injured in the mishap?”

“No, sir,” Harry answered, “Just ended up with a few additional passengers.”

“All of which should be grateful for your actions. Mr. Fraser, you of course already know you're needed back at the Ministry once you gain a few hours' rest,” said the second Auror. The pair of them closely resembled each other, and Harry was then wishing this to be over and done with before Tommy could grasp at he'd just gone through, namely his dead brother.

“Yes, I'm aware, thank you. Now. These folks...” he gestured to the group who had gathered around the table, “Need to be processed and returned where they belong. Everyone, just answer the questions honestly, and the Commonwealth will see that you're well-looked after. Compensation will be awarded, and although it cannot undo the extreme and callous nature of what happened, take it with our sincerest apologies.”

Justin turned to Tommy.

“Mr. Riordan. Her majesty has granted you political asylum given your, um, current and past circumstances. And, given the, uh, severity of what you've just been through...” Justin pulled out a wax-sealed letter from his pocket.

“Wait.” Mazhe fished another calming draught out of Justin's satchel.

“G-good idea,” said Justin.

“My brother... my pop... they're gone.”

“We're sorry, Tommy. You have no idea.”

Tommy took the offered potion, and consumed its awful contents.

“They're nasty, but they work,” said Harry, offering a hand. “Come have a seat where it's a bit more comfortable.”

“If you've got everything in hand...”

“Wait. Tommy,” said the referee.

“Yeah.”

“Your brother won, but given the, uh—”

“His kids.”

“We'll see to them,” said Justin.

“Doesn't have to be right this minute,” said the first Auror, “Lots of fish to fry with this mess. Word is Mrs. T. is in a fury right now, not sure what about, but something to get her all stirred up, it's nothing good.”

The pair turned to the group of strangers.

“All right, let's get you all back to the Ministry so we can get this sorted out.”

Tommy watched as the group was shepherded through the fireplace. Only after the last of them were gone, did he turn his attention to the sealed letter, sealed the old-fashioned way by a wax seal.

“Gods, I've met her majesty personally, and I've never received a letter from her,” said Harry, lightly.

“Your country has a queen.”

“Wonderful lady. Down to earth, very kind—at least most of the time. This evening's events have her in a fury, I can tell you that much,” said Justin, as Tommy broke the seal, and pulled the letter from inside the envelope. It, too was of yellow parchment, with deep-blue ink forming the words on the page.

 

_Mr. Thomas Riordan nee Conlon_  
Care of Mr. Harry Potter,  
Hall of Attainment, College of Winterhold,  
Skyrim Province

_Dear Mr. Riordan,_

_Please allow Us to extend Our deepest sympathies during this dark occasion of your life. It pains Us greatly to know that our world and its actions are the reason behind your pain on this day. Rest assured, We are beside you in your grief, your anger, and your tears, as we all ask the same question: why has this happened?_

_That said, We also decree that you are henceforth protected by all the laws and weight We bear, granting you political shelter and asylum within Our sovereign territories._

_I personally send my own condolences, and may you find strength and friendship amongst those in your company. Young Harry is a personal ward, and I would ask that you consider doing a personal favour, and offer him lessons in your skill set. Our Department of Information informs me you have previous military training, amongst other things. I believe that such a distraction may be a boon to you at this point in your life._

_Sincerely,_

_(An elegant signature was penned here)_

_H. R. M. Queen Susan II_

 

“She's kidding.” Tommy tossed the letter on the table, and leaned his chair back on two legs. “Worst night of my life after... after... Jesus Christ...”

“How about you get some sleep... take this beforehand, you won't dream while you sleep.”

“Thanks.”

“Trust me, I think we'll all be needing that,” said Harry.

“You're really... a ward of the state?”

“Since I was six,” Harry answered. “My relatives were neglectful and abusive. The Commonwealth rescued me.”

“Wish someone could've rescued us,” Tommy muttered.

“Your childhood was no picnic either, I take it.”

“Nor was mine,” said Mazhe, “I know all too well what it's like. We know abuse comes in many forms. Still gonna pay old Grelod a visit one day...”

“Not today, Mazhe. Just leave it for now,” said Justin.

“Tommy, c'mon, you can borrow Remus' bed for the night. He's still in London, settling affairs,” said Harry, gently tugging on the older man's sleeve. He sluggishly got to his feet, and Harry led him over to Remus' compartment.

“Sit. Now drink this. It tastes nasty, but it works.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Tommy consumed the contents of the potion, and swung his legs up onto the bed, and stretched out.

“The bathroom is through that door. And seriously, need anything, wake one of us up.”

“Though he shouldn't wake up for at least eight hours, Harry. None of us will.”

“That's the point.” Harry turned to cross the room, but Tommy grabbed his shirt sleeve.

“Thanks.”

“It... you're welcome,” Harry answered.

* * *

 

It was nearly 10 am before anyone stirred. The table was already set with a light brunch: scrambled eggs, home fries, sausages, toast, and pancakes, all being kept warm by a warming charm.

After a quick shower to clean up, Harry quickly knelt in front of the fireplace to call Alice and Will, only to discover the fire would not connect.

“Justin!?”

“Harry?”

“Why won't the floo work?”

“You light a fire?”

“Of COURSE I lit a fire, Justin. Bloody hell.”

“Sorry.”

Justin swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up, then crossed the floor to kneel beside Harry at the fireplace. He poked at the fire with his wand.

“The floo's been put into lockdown.”

“Your mobile. Call the Ministry, find out what's going on.”

“Aye aye, captain,” said Justin, with a mock-salute. He went over to the table and took a seat, digging for his mobile phone.

“Uh, Harry?” Tommy had also sat up, and set his feet on the floor.

“You feeling all right? Wait... don't answer that.” Harry crossed the floor and held out another calming draught.

“Can't just keep me numb forever.”

“Until we get to see a mind-healer. They'll be able to help you reconcile your thoughts. Smile in the knowing of your blood, that in the end they did not hate you.”

Harry and Tommy locked eyes for a moment.

“My last living relative hated me because I was a wizard. She and that oaf of a husband forced me to live in a cupboard under the stairs.”

“Really?”

“I swear it. They're locked away in a Commonwealth prison now... so a certain meddling old fart doesn't get any further ideas on setting them free.”

“We'll solve him eventually, Harry,” came Mazhe's sleepy voice. “'s too early, go back to bed.”

“Already missed half my morning training with Balimund.”

“We're leaving in fifteen minutes, whether you guys have eaten or not,” Justin threatened.

“Sure it's a good idea, taking... well...”

“I think it'll be brilliant. Something to keep his mind occupied.” Harry glanced at Tommy. “'course, he's gonna need something more suitable for the weather here.”

“Where we headed?” Tommy asked.

He resigned himself to the fact he was expected to go along. They weren't exactly friends, but not exactly strangers at this point. And they were being kind to him. He had nothing to lose by sticking around.

It was 10:45 before they arrived in Riften by port key.

“Mr. Potter. Running a little late this morning,” said Balimund.

“Forgive us,” said Harry, “Some rather disturbing events unfolded in the world I'm from. It was a difficult night for us.”

“Then perhaps you might want to spend the day seeing to your person, Harry. Your mind will be troubled by your heart,” said Balimund, kindly.

“I. I can't do that, sir. I can't let things such as... what happened last night... get in the way of my lessons and my training.”

“If you are sure you can pay attention. Perhaps if you might just observe today.” Balimund eyed the newcomer in the group. “Your group has grown by one.”

“Balimund, this is a new friend, Tommy. Tommy, this is Balimund. He's been teaching me smithing.”

Tommy simply nodded at the old smith. His eyes kept being diverted by the many distractions in the strange place they'd landed. The settlement was medieval, that much he was able to ascertain. It was beyond puzzling, but somehow... maybe that was how the magical world worked.

Harry, meanwhile, had hoisted himself up on a short wall nearby. Maybe observing things was the best thing for now.

“S-so, is all the magical world like this?” Tommy asked, as he hoisted himself up on the wall beside Harry.

“Uh, not exactly,” Harry hedged. He wasn't sure if Tommy was ready for the naked truth just yet. “Just be ready for anything. Gods, I'm still learning about what magic can do. Oh.” Harry gestured at a scabbed-over wound below Tommy's eye. “ _Episkey_.”

“Shit. Didn't realize that was there.”

“I can fix a lot of things now. Healing spells are right useful. Now some things, it's better to let a healer see to them, but... cuts, sprains... your shoulder... I'm strong enough that I can do it.”

“Strong? Harry, you're one of the strongest mages at the College,” said Mazhe, “You'll be teaching there full-time one day.”

“Unless Sir Malcolm Davis Institute can woo him,” said Justin.

“Unlikely,” said Harry, with a shake of the head and a frown, “I'm not very happy with the Commonwealth right now. They should've been there within minutes. You work for the government, Justin! They let us all down.”

Justin frowned. “You're right, they did. But count on this. The government is doing an investigation and they will figure out what happened and why things broke down as they did. It wasn't our finest hour.”

“Not your finest hour.”

Tommy turned to face Justin, an angry snarl plastered on his face.

“My brother and my pop are gone. _Not your finest hour_ , right.”

“It's not his fault. None of us could've known,” said Harry, quietly, “ _Krosis_.”

“Sorrow,” Mazhe whispered, remembering the translation.

An hour later, the group descended into the Ratway, and finally into the Ragged Flagon for lunch.

“Looks like someone ran off with your coin purse, lad,” said Brynjolf, seeing the group enter.

“Bad business last night, Brynjolf. A lot of people died.”

“Today will not be a good day for training then.” The Nord could easily read the young wizard.

“As much as I would like to... I guess not. We're not likely going to be pleasant company today.” The group claimed one of the tables, and a fourth chair was pulled over for Tommy.

“Bryn, this is Tommy. He, uh, lost family last night. You remember what we explained about the killing curse?”

“Aye.”

“It was used a number of times last night.”

“I wouldn't consider travelling the countryside a way of dealing with that sort of grief,” said Delvin, from the table next to them.

“Nor is being holed up at the College,” answered Justin, with a frown.

“After lunch, let's take a port key up to the Throat of the World—or the gate to High Hrothgar. The air and the view might be a good tonic for the soul.”

“A mountain?” Tommy guessed.

“Highest peak in Skyrim,” said Delvin. “You lot have been there?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” Harry answered, as Vekel placed bottles of mead on the table in front of them.

“I'm game then,” said Tommy, as he pried the top off the bottle. He read the label: _Black-Briar Mead_.

“Well...” said Justin, raising a bottle. “To loved ones lost, we will meet again, for death is only the next great adventure.”

Tommy hesitated, seeming to weigh Justin's words, but gave a weak smile, and raised his bottle. One could hope, after all.

Justin took a long swig off the bottle, leaned back in his seat, and began to softly sing:

 

> _Non nobis domine, domine,_  
>  Non nobis domine,  
>  Sed nomini, sed nomini  
>  tuo da gloriam.(1)

 

Tommy wasn't the only one who collapsed emotionally, as it all truly hit home as to the extent of that previous evening's tragedy. Harry knew of what lay in store in his future, but the disaster they'd just been through spelled it out crystal clear. Many more would have their lives prematurely ended long before the final confrontation. Hell, Voldemort wasn't even afforded a physical form at this point! And still, he and his followers were able to unleash unholy hell on innocent, unsuspecting victims!

CRACK! Sirius appeared not far from the tables, and his face instantly showed relief, finding Harry's.

“Merlin... glad you're safe, Harry.”

“Sirius.”

“You weren't harmed?”

“N-no. We... I think Mazhe nailed one of them with an ice spike. They were Death Eaters, Padfoot!”

“We know they were.” Sirius pulled a chair over from the nearby table, and space was made for the newcomer. “Mr. Riordan, I'm guessing?”

“Tommy.”

“Sirius Black,” Sirius answered, offering a hand. They briefly shook.

“The floo was sealed when we left—”

“Still is, Harry. Remus and I had to convince Guardian Elaine to make a special port key so we could get through.”

“Given the government's state, I'm shocked they did,” said Justin, shaking his head.

“Harry, uh, you need to know...” Sirius pulled out a parchment from his robes. “You know about the Triwizard tournament, right?”

“So Ron and Hermione have told me. What about it?” Did he really want to know?

“They drew the names for the champions last night at dinner. Four names.”

“And...”

“Triwizard tournament... as in three,” said Justin.

“So someone tricked it into coughing up an extra contestant. It's magic, I'm guessing here, right?” said Tommy.

Harry felt a stone drop into the pit of his stomach.

“That useless. Meddling. _Wanker_!” And Harry cut loose with a string of colourful language never before heard in Tamriel. Mazhe arched an eyebrow, while Justin was doing his best not to laugh.

SMASH! A clay pitcher on a crate nearby disintegrated into a million pieces.

“I'll strangle the man with his own beard!”

SMASH. A bottle of mead was the next to fall victim, as Harry flew out of his seat, and stormed away.

“Uh, I...”

“Don't worry about it. He's got every right to be angry right now,” said Sirius.

Mazhe, meanwhile, dropped a bag of coins on the bar.

“Harry didn't mean anything by it. We're sorting out some bad business right now.”

“Most unsettling he is able to do such things,” said Vekel, as he tucked the bag of coins away.

“His magic is different than that of Skyrim, we all know that.”

“What sort of tournament?” Tommy asked.

“The Triwizard Tournament. It's being hosted at Hogwarts for the first time in years,” Sirius explained, “Hogwarts is a magical school, much like the College, but it's targeted toward young witches and wizards learning the basics of the craft.”

“And who is the, uh, meddling wanker?”

“Oh. Albus Dumbledore. Harry has a number of issues with the old man right now, and this latest stunt only adds to the pile.”

“Can't Harry just say no?”

“No. A magically binding contract is exactly that. Now obviously, someone else has put his name in, but the magic doesn't discern who did it. Only that the name on the paper has entered the tournament.”

“Humph. Lots of ways _that_ could be abused.”

“The headmaster, meanwhile, was only concerned about preventing younger students from entering.”

“Have you heard anything about the Commonwealth's response?” Mazhe asked.

“No. I was more focused on getting back to Skyrim.”

“Really need the floo reopened. Maybe we should get back to the College,” said Justin.

“If you guys wanna go.” Harry had returned to the group, but did not sit down. “I'm going to borrow the training room for a bit, that's if Mercer doesn't mind.”

“I can't see him putting up an argument, lad. Go work out your frustrations.”

“I'll come with, and conjure some soft targets for you,” Sirius offered.

“Can you make them into effigies of Dumbledore?” asked Harry, with a scowl.

It was the middle of the afternoon before Harry and his godfather reappeared in the Ragged Flagon. The others were still gathered around one of the tables, and Tommy was again unconscious, slumped at the table.

“What happened?” Harry asked, suspiciously.

“He was about to go ballistic. I stunned him,” Justin answered apologetically.

“As soon as the floo is reconnected, we need a mind healer.”

“Why are we making it our problem, Harry? It's the Commonwealth's issue, isn't it?”

“Mazhe, even you should know what it's like to be abandoned. I'd be feeling overwhelmed right now, being dropped into a strange place with a bunch of strangers around me, after suffering a terrible loss,” Justin answered, “He's lost most of his family in a matter of minutes.”

“It comes back to what he wants,” Harry answered, “I know the Commonwealth will look after him no matter what—though it sounds like they're kissing his arse at this point.”

He picked up a half-empty bottle of mead and took a long swig.

“That's mine by the way,” Justin scowled.

“Mine now,” Harry answered, and drained the bottle. Justin made a rude gesture, and Harry stuck his tongue out.

“Real mature, Harry.”

“It's getting on in the afternoon. I'm going to Apparate back to the College and see if the floo has been reconnected,” said Sirius.

“We're headed to High Hrothgar. Here, I'll make you a port key so you can get back to us.” Justin picked up the now empty bottle, and touched it with his wand. “ _Portus_.”

“I'll meet up with you all in a half-hour then.” Sirius collected the port key and popped away.

The bizarre sensation of travelling by port key woke Tommy up, and he found himself being gripped tightly by Mazhe, while Harry helped keep his hand on the object. They all landed roughly in the snow, and he was assaulted by the bitter cold of the high altitude.

“Sorry about earlier,” Justin apologized, and helped the man to his feet. Harry and Mazhe climbed to their feet.

“Where are we?” Tommy asked.

“The highest peak in Skyrim. Or just below the summit. Look.” Mazhe pointed to the north, where they could barely make out a stone structure standing out against the winter landscape.

“Our first port key ride last night dropped us there. That's the College of Winterhold.”

“Air's pretty clear here.”

“Only thing that messes with the view is the weather. This is as good a place as any to clear your head,” said Mazhe.

“What... what happens to me now?”

“Mr. Riordan, you've faced the worst our world has to offer, and survived it. The Commonwealth will definitely help you out, but... given what happened, we won't send you away. Better to sort things out in the company of friends, than to go it alone,” said Justin.

“I don't play well with others.”

“We aren't going to leave you to your own devices, mate.”

“Why do you care?” Tommy cast a glare at Harry.

“I'm pissed and hurt that this entire ordeal happened, Tommy. The bastards walked into a place packed with non-magical people and started cursing. Because you came with us... you survived... but I know you likely wish you hadn't.”

Tommy nodded slowly.

“No shame in that, but just don't try to, uh... you know,” said Justin. That got another glare from Tommy.

“This whole mess... something still feels off about it,” said Mazhe.

“Agreed with that,” said Justin, with a nod. “It's interesting the Queen gives him political asylum. He's being allowed to stay in the country, while everyone else is sent back to the U.S. after having their memories modified.”

“They know more than they're letting on,” Mazhe guessed.

“The letter mentioned my fighting skills,” said Tommy. “She asked me to offer training to Mr. Potter.”

“Well. Isn't that interesting,” Justin scowled.

“Let me guess. The Ministry has a file on him.”

“The Ministry has files on a lot of people, Harry.”

“You're sayin' your government was spying on me,” Tommy summarized.

“Likely. I've never been in the Department of Information, but I have a pretty good idea of the manpower behind it and so on. My credentials don't let me into their department, but, given most of the government's computers are magically augmented, I need not go further, right?”

Tommy again slowly nodded, quickly understanding the point. With magic on their side, it was unlikely very many regular computers would be able to keep them out. If this foreign country he found himself in wanted information on someone, it was a sure bet they would find it.

With a sudden blur a short distance away from the group, Sirius arrived, bringing with him a letter.

“Sirius.”

“Harry. The floo has been reconnected... and this was addressed to you.” Sirius held out the envelope. Harry opened it.

 

_Harry,_

_I am unsure of whether you are aware of it or not, but the Triwizard Tournament is being held at the school this year. Last night, the Goblet of Fire cast forth the names of the champions who will compete. Instead of drawing only three names, a fourth was also drawn: Yours, Harry._

_I must ask you return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, since your name coming out of the Goblet does signify a binding magical contract, and you are required to participate in the tournament._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

 

“Bloody wanker,” Harry muttered, dropping the parchment into the snow at his feet and sending a blast of orange magic at it. The offending parchment burst into flames, the ashes being blown away by the swirling wind. He turned to his newest friend.

“Tommy... I may be in need of your, uh... whatever you might be willing to teach me. Say, two hundred galleons a week.”

“What's that in American?”

“Um, current exchange, roughly two-thousand U.S. A week,” answered Justin.

“Deal.”

“Let's get back to the College then,” Justin suggested, “I'll contact the Ministry of Health and have them send a mind-healer through.”

“Part of the requirement of you working for me is that you have to talk to them,” said Harry.

“How will they help?”

“You know about a Psychiatrist?”

“I'm not—“

“No, of course not. A mind-healer is someone far more effective. They use several tools, including Legilimency, to help you sort through some very ugly shit you've just been through,” Justin explained.

“What about... something that happened before that?”

“Sure. It's your session, you take it in whatever direction you want to go.”

“You've had to see one before?” Harry guessed.

“When I was ten, a boy of about eight was crushed by a streetcar while trying to cross the street in front of the school. It was messy,” Justin answered.

He pulled out a Frisbee from his satchel, and touched it with his wand. “ _Portus_.”

They arrived back at the College to find Will and Alice waiting, as well as Guardian Elaine, and a young witch in lime-green healers' robes.

“Madam Guardian,” Harry greeted, with a bow of the head.

“Mr. Potter. It is good to see you again, although I do wish this meeting was under better circumstances.”

“Likewise.”

“Harry. Are you all right?” Alice asked.

“I was uninjured, if that's what you're asking.”

“I insist you speak to Miss Ferris, she is a healer specializing in the mind-arts. You are mature for your age, but you're still only a fourteen-year-old boy, Harry.”

“I... I know.”

Tommy arched an eyebrow. “Shit, I thought you were at least eighteen.”

“Growing up here made me that way. Tommy, this is Alice and Will, they work for the Ministry of Social Services. Alice rescued me from my rotten relatives when I was six, and they've sort of seen to my case since. Finally, Guardian Elaine... probably one of the most important people in the Commonwealth.”

“He knows his history,” said Elaine, smiling briefly, “Now I only wish to intrude for a few moments, if only to insure you are well, Mr. Potter.”

“No physical harm done, but... Shor's balls... complete utter disaster. Do... do we know how many were killed?”

“The number's topped three hundred so far. Non-magical search and rescue services are still pulling people out of the wreckage alive,” answered Will.

“Is the Commonwealth helping?” Tommy asked.

“No. You have to understand, Mr. Riordan, the Commonwealth's primary directive in this situation is to ensure that, a) our identity has not been compromised, and b) the Statute of Secrecy is not breached. Given the extraordinary circumstances last night, we have three different magical governments involved cleaning up. It may seem callous, but there would be much more serious implications should the magical world be permanently exposed to the non-magical world,” Elaine answered.

“Have they confirmed it was Death Eaters?” Justin asked.

“No. Though it's pretty much a sure bet. The Department of Information is reviewing the security footage, as well as what was broadcast on television,” answered Will.

“Charlie foxtrot,” Tommy muttered.

Harry arched an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Military code for cluster fuck,” Tommy answered.

Mazhe smirked, while Justin did his best not to laugh, given the circumstances. Tommy had summed it up quite nicely.

“Mr. Riordan. I am Healer Ferris. Won't you come with me?” The healer offered a hand.

“Uh, sure.”

* * *

Healer Ferris was a patient woman, spending several hours a day with Tommy, helping him to sort through the overwhelming reality he now found himself in. She also spent some time with Harry, although it was far less necessary. The boy was bothered by the events, but considering those he cared about came out of the incident unscathed, he only spent one session.

For that reason among others, it was actually several days before Harry finally decided to answer the headmaster's summons back to Hogwarts. November 4 saw them travel back to Trevelyan, where Sirius helped Tommy get a few changes of clothes among other things. Up to that point, he had been borrowing stuff off of Justin. Mazhe was a closer size match, but considering the type of wardrobe he had, it wasn't exactly practical. He had also been given a ring which negated the effects of Muggle-repelling wards. If he was to be a part of the group, it was only fair he have the same privileges.

It was November 6 when the four of them, as well as Sirius and Remus, travelled by floo powder back to the Three Broomsticks. There, they were met by two lawyers from the Crown Attorney's office. From that point, it was the lengthy walk up to the castle itself. To the casual eye, it looked like Harry was surrounded by non-magicals. And Harry himself, went with a pair of jeans, a tee shirt and an olive bomber jacket. His wand was jammed in the front pocket of said jacket, but he still looked like a Muggle.

As they stepped through the doors of the Great Hall, the noise level rapidly diminished, as every eye found its way to them. Harry simply took a deep breath, and the group began to cross the large room.

Tommy, meanwhile, was astounded by the room into which they had stepped. It was as if there were no ceiling at all, with the night sky providing the canopy. There seemed to be thousands of candles suspended in mid-air, casting a warm glow about the room. He'd certainly seen enough magic over the past few days, but here and now, he knew he was bathing in it, almost literally.

They finally arrived at the head table.

“Harry, I'm pleased you were at last able to return to us,” said Dumbledore, pleasantly. “I do have to wonder, why you might have this number of people with you.”

He had to hide a frown, seeing both Sirius and Remus with the group. Both had been potential tools Harry had easily ripped away from his grasp.

“If we might take this up to your office, headmaster. This matter is best not discussed in public,” said the Crown attorney, curtly.

“I would also like to have Professor McGonagall present,” Harry added. “I don't trust you.”

“I see.”

A short time later, they were seated around a table the headmaster had conjured in his office.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, we are here by the Queen's directive. I'm Albert Sampson, and this is Joyce Connor of the Crown Attorney's Office. Given that her majesty's ward has not been in England's borders since near the end of June, the crown is investigating how exactly his name came to be entered into this tournament.”

“We are equally concerned, Mr. Sampson,” said McGonagall, “All of us are in agreement that Potter should not be expected to participate, given he is not of age here.”

“What is the English Ministry doing about this?”

“There is nothing we can do, Mr. Sampson,” answered Dumbledore, with a sad face, “The Goblet's choices are final and binding.”

“Even if the person didn't enter it willingly. Gods, you would think such an ancient and powerful artefact would have some sort of... intent ward on it or the like,” said Mazhe.

He reached up and flipped his hair out of his face. He still had it shaved off on both sides, but it was now long enough to reach down to his shoulders.

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty, mister...”

“This is Mazhe,” said Harry, “One of my friends from Skyrim. And Justin, and Tommy.”

“How did this goblet thing work?” Tommy asked.

“Students simply wrote their name on a scrap of parchment, and placed it into the goblet,” answered McGonagall.

“Professor, how many times do we write our names on assignments and that sort of thing?” Harry asked, scowling.

“Many times, Potter.”

“So, let's say that, someone old enough... I dunno, a Ravenclaw seventh year... found an assignment signed by Dennis Creevey... and they tossed it into the goblet. If he was chosen, would he have to compete?”

The headmaster momentarily stared at Harry.

“Well, headmaster? We're waiting,” said Miss Connor.

“Even as dire an implication as that is, yes, he would be required to compete.”

“I wonder what Colin and Dennis' mother might think of that,” Harry wondered aloud.

“Or the parents of any student,” Justin added, grimly, “A pretty skewed way of running things, Professor.”

“It's done now, though, isn't it,” said Mazhe.

“That it is, mister... err... Mazhe,” said Dumbledore, again wearing a sad expression. Tommy's attention, meanwhile, had been turned to Fawkes, who rested on his perch, watching the proceeding.

“I would welcome the Commonwealth's outside eyes in gathering an understanding into how this came to happen,” said McGonagall.

“Minerva.”

“Don't 'Minerva' me, Albus! A fourteen-year-old boy has been entered into a tournament designed for those of age, despite your best efforts!”

“I'm guessin' here, but it sounds like someone wants Harry dead,” said Tommy, turning his attention back to the meeting.

“Where is the Goblet now?” asked Mr. Sampson.

“Locked up in the anteroom off of the Great Hall,” answered McGonagall.

“We'll be bringing in a team from the Commonwealth's federal crime scene unit, along with two unspeakables from our department of arcane sciences. We'll tear it apart if we have to,” said Miss Connor, “Perhaps bring in a team of curse-breakers if necessary.”

“I have to object—”

“WE OBJECT TO THIS TRAVESTY OCCURRING IN THE FIRST PLACE, HEADMASTER!” Mr. Sampson erupted, “You have meddled with her majesty's ward enough already, and she is truly tiring of your interference. Do not believe yourself beyond our reach, headmaster.”

“I do deeply regret that young Harry is being once again subjected to such an event,” answered Dumbledore, sadly, “But indeed, even uncovering what transpired to lead us to this point will not release him from the tournament.”

“Fine. So I have to compete.”

“Equally, it also means you are required to reside at the castle with your classmates. I do apologize for this interrupting whatever schooling you now have in place, however—“

“Actually, that is not entirely correct, Albus,” Remus spoke up, “Given Cedric Diggory is the Hogwarts champion, it would be inappropriate for Harry to take up residence in the castle for the duration of the tournament—outside his attending classes, if he so desires it.”

“Harry was sorted into Gryffindor—“

“As a Hogwarts student, Professor. Harry did owl you a letter stating he has withdrawn from the school this past July. Whether or not you wished to accept it, Harry no longer sees himself as a student here,” said Miss Connor.

“The Commonwealth will have a solution in place by Monday afternoon at the latest,” said Mr. Sampson, “In the meantime, it is my understanding the castle has a set of rooms for visitors.”

“It has been a number of years since they have been used, but yes, there is such accommodation,” McGonagall agreed. “Musy,” she called out, to no one in particular.

_Pop_. “Professor McGonagall called for Musy?” the house elf asked. She was dressed smartly in a little uniform.

“Could you see to the set of visitors' rooms on the fourth floor?”

“Right away, Professor!” The elf popped away. Tommy was unfazed, having already met Dobby back in Skyrim.

“Minerva, I must object—“ said Dumbledore.

“No, I must object, Albus! Potter is simply a guest of the school, equally as much as the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. You cannot afford to enforce a double standard.”

“Thank you, professor.”

“Equally important. We are employing the services of a mind healer from the Commonwealth. Which fireplace would be convenient for her to access?” questioned Miss Connor.

“If not, we'll be simply walking down to Hogsmeade in the morning,” said Harry, bluntly, “A guest rather than a student and all.”

“I think Madam Pomfrey would be more than happy to accommodate you with that matter,” said McGonagall.

“My I ask why you would be needing such services?” Dumbledore asked.

“You can ask, but no, we're not gonna tell you.”

“Harry...” Mazhe again put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“He doesn't need to know. Though he probably already knows, considering the news.”

It took only a moment for the realization to set in for Dumbledore.

“You were at the event Death Eaters allegedly attacked last Sunday,” he said simply.

“Except this time, rather than flee as I did in Last Seed, we stayed and helped.”

Dumbledore regarded Tommy for a moment. “And this explains your presence.”

“It does, I guess.”

“Care to guess what Tommy, Mazhe, and I have in common, headmaster?” Harry asked, darkly. “Wait. Don't bother.”

“Now Harry, I take exception...”

“No, headmaster, 'I' take exception to being dragged back here, when this past July I swore up and down I would never come back. Considering there are very few people within this castle's walls I trust at this point, I insist on having my circle here at my back, just so there aren't any accidents or other misunderstandings.”

That got a surprised look out of Tommy.

“We will do our best to accommodate you all for the next few days,” said McGonagall.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“I guess we're finished here. Though just to be clear, it will take very little for us to pull Harry away from the school and back to the Commonwealth, and only bring him for the tasks,” said Sirius, “It would go against the spirit of the tournament, but I think that's already been violated by whatever underhanded manner was used drag my godson into it. I reiterate Tommy's comment from earlier, it's as if someone's trying to get him killed.”

“If we might take our leave then. Be aware, headmaster, we may still have questions regarding this incident,” said Miss Connor.

“I will show you to the guest rooms,” McGonagall offered.

The set of rooms were nicely decorated, affording them a view of the Black Lake.

“Sure you don't want to stay here in the castle, pup?” Sirius asked, as the group took up seats in the common room.

“No. I don't want to be here any more than I need to. Every minute I'm within this castle's walls, is one more minute the meddling old man has time to pull some sort of stunt. I'm missing class time back in the College because of this, all my lessons in Riften now out the window... Azura curse them all!”

“Come Monday, we'll have a solution in place,” said Miss Connor, “It's one you will have to see to believe, the rest I'll leave as a surprise.”

“Harry, you still might want to consider attending class here,” said Sirius, “Take advantage of what's being offered.”

“I... I suppose. I did enjoy Care of Magical Creatures last year,” Harry conceded, “And it was easier with a professor explaining things in Ancient Runes.”

“I'll speak to Minerva and get your schedule then,” Remus offered.

“Great. Whether Dumbledore likes it or not, I'm not slowing down to dance to the beat of his drum,” said Harry, darkly.

“What will we be doing while you're in class?”

“Whatever you want,” Sirius answered, “Though I wouldn't suggest going far without one of us. Equally, for the next while, you'll be tied up in the mornings seeing Miss Ferris. Doing so is not an option.”

“I get it.”

“Good.”

“For whatever reason, the government believes you have something to offer Harry, Mr. Riordan,” said Miss Connor.

“My skills as a fighter. But... but why me? Can't your guys do better?”

“We don't know why,” answered Justin. “I know mixed martial arts isn't as popular in the Commonwealth, and to have both skills, it's pretty rare I think. I mean, I'm sure the Department of Information could get us some statistics on that, but... you get my point.”

“Whatever the result, I'm open to whatever you can show me, Tommy.”

“Do you have any sort of exercise regimen?”

“No, not really.”

“You do now.”

Less than an hour later, there was a knock at the door. Remus opened it to reveal Ron, Hermione, and the twins.

“Hi guys!” Harry grinned, quickly crossing the room to meet them. “Come in... bloody hell.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione cried, giving Harry a tight hug.

“I'm all right... air, Hermione.”

“Sorry. We were all worried when your name come out of the goblet. There was no way you did it willingly! What did Professor Dumbledore say?”

“I have to compete anyway. Magically binding contract, right?”

“How come you're not staying in the dorm with us then?” Ron asked.

“Because I'm not a student here anymore. Cedric's the Hogwarts champion, and me staying in the castle would take away from him.”

“But...”

“Ron, really,” said Hermione, giving him a swat. “It makes sense! So the Commonwealth is supporting you instead.”

“Exactly, miss...”

“Granger, Hermione Granger. And this is Ron, and his brothers, Fred and George.”

“Joyce Connor, from the Commonwealth's Crown Attorney office. My colleague, Albert Sampson. We'll be staying close to Mr. Potter throughout the tournament.”

“Dumbledore looked like he'd swallowed a very sour lemon when they introduced themselves in his office,” Harry smirked. “Come join us.”

He sat down beside Mazhe, making room for Ron and Hermione on a vacant couch. The twins took to a pair of chairs.

“Wait. I know you. Seamus showed us pictures he printed on his, uh—”

“Computer, Ron,” Hermione finished.

“Yeah, that's it. You're Tommy Riordan. Pounded the piss out of a guy a few months ago. Seamus was raving about it all night the first night back.”

“Guys. Some terrible things happened to him and us too, a week ago. Just,”

“I'm not glass, Harry,” Tommy said quietly.

“No, but... Ron has a tendency to not exercise tact sometimes.”

“'s okay. Guess that's what got me to SPARTA. Seems so long ago now. Gotta wonder, the guys back at that gym.”

“The Commonwealth could probably make some quiet enquiries,” said Justin.

“Right. Enough of that,” said Harry, deciding it best to shift the conversation into safer territory. “What's the Dark Arts Defence professor like this year.”

“Wicked scary, but he knows his stuff,” answered Ron.

“He's a retired Auror or something,” said George.

“Rumor's that half the inmates in Azkaban are there because of him,” Fred finished.

“Sounds like we lucked out this year.”

“Does that mean you're joining us for class?” asked Hermione.

“At least for some of them. I'm going to have to change my schedule back in Skyrim, and I won't be able to teach at the College, but I guess... it's actually not going to be too disruptive, at least come Monday.”

“What happens Monday?”

“Mr. Potter gets his own private quarters outside of the castle. Since both foreign schools have their own quarters and so on, it's only fair,” said Miss Connor.

“Would it be possible for these guys to come visit me?”

“I think something can be worked out,” said Mr. Sampson.

* * *

_Monday, 8 November, 2004 / 8 Sun's Dusk, 4E199_

“Harry, I, uh... maybe I was seein' things, but... I could've sworn you came out of the bathroom twice early this morning,” said Tommy.

“Maybe you need to take more dreamless sleep potions,” said Justin, smirking. That earned him a rude gesture for the effort. Harry only rolled his eyes and grinned at the banter. “Deja vu maybe?”

“I guess.” Tommy, Justin, Harry, and Mazhe had just finished their morning jog, which took them nearly around the Black Lake, and were then walking back toward the castle. It had been taken at a slow pace, just so they could get used to the routine.

“Question was, what was he doing up so late, given how early we're up in the morning,” Justin wondered.

“Couldn't sleep.”

“I back up my previous statement.”

“You know they're addictive, Justin.”

“Hey, that looks like Mr. Sampson and Miss Connor,” said Mazhe.

“Detour, guys. Maybe our accommodation is arriving,” Harry guessed. He'd barely got the words out of his mouth, when there came a God-awful CRACK which resembled a clap of thunder. Then, in the blink of an eye, an enormous object appeared over the Black Lake, the likes of which only one of them had seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: The Commonwealth provides something astounding for Harry's accommodations during the tournament, something neither the headmaster, nor the Ministry likes in the least; an incident after class results in tighter security around Harry, and a very nasty message being delivered to the headmaster; and the first task of the tournament has a rather unexpected outcome._
> 
>  
> 
> _AUTHOR NOTES:_  
>  _(1) According to Wikipedia, translates to: “Not to us, not to us, O Lord, But to your name give glory.” Those who are not aware, it is an old chant, and while some might argue it doesn't fit with what happened, Justin sings to recognize it could have been a lot worse, simply offering up thanks that all of them had escaped unscathed._


	11. The First Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commonwealth provides something astounding for Harry's accommodations during the tournament, something neither the headmaster, nor the Ministry likes in the least; an incident after class results in tighter security around Harry, and a very nasty message being delivered to the headmaster; and the first task of the tournament has a rather unexpected outcome.

# 11: THE FIRST TASK

**November 8 – 24, 2004**

* * *

Harry guessed the object to be at least twenty-five hundred feet in length, and easily three hundred feet high, including the cluster of masts and antennas which protruded from the structure near its middle. Near what Harry guessed was the front, in enormous letters of a simple font was the word RAGNAR.

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy swore.

“It's... it's a ship,” said Mazhe, equally astounded.

“Her Majesty's Ship Ragnar, flagship of the Atlantic fleet,” said Justin, with a mad grin, “Looks like your accommodation will be on Commonwealth soil. Twenty-five-hundred feet of it anyway.”

“How the hell does it fly?!” Tommy was still struck dumb at what he was seeing.

“Magic, of course,” answered Justin, simply, as they now hurried toward where the lawyers were gathered. Harry, meanwhile, was smirking madly. How would the whiskered wanker deal with THIS?!

The loud crack had certainly been heard inside the castle, and within minutes, a large number of its occupants, including some of the teachers, were streaming out onto the grounds. Harry couldn't hear what was being said, but there was lots of fingers pointing at the massive object now dominating the landscape. The ship was completely white, with numerous windows and hatches along the side—Harry lost count at twenty-six different floors, or decks. The upper part of the ship seemed to be carved by a series of large hatches, of which one of them was opening.

Then, something was ejected from said hatch, and it blasted into the sky, making a wide turn over the grounds. It somewhat resembled an aircraft, but the wings were really small—if they could be considered wings. It was clear this craft was completely powered by magic, exactly as a broom was... and come to think of it, it seemed to handle EXACTLY like a broom.

It was making a rapid descent now, and within thirty seconds of it blasting out the side of the ship, it hovered a few feet from the group. Up close, it was roughly twenty feet in length, and other than the rather short wing span, it very closely resembled an extremely compact jet fighter. On the side of the cockpit was the label: CAPT. DAN “DITCH” ROWLAND. The canopy slid back to reveal the pilot, dressed in a Muggle flight suit.

“Harry Potter?” he asked, simply.

“That would be me,” Harry answered calmly. Inwardly, his heart was racing. Once again, the Commonwealth was bending over backwards, for him.

“This is a port key that will take you and your party up to the ship. The commander's waiting to meet you.”

“Thank you, captain,” said Harry, accepting the object—a soccer ball of all things.

“Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Potter.”

The pilot gave a salute and pulled the canopy closed, and within moments, the aircraft was back in the air, flying back toward the ship.

“Ditch?” Justin had to giggle. “Have to wonder how he earned _that_ nickname.”

“Mr. Potter. You have the port key?” questioned Mr. Sampson.

“Yeah.”

“Excellent. If we could gather around then. The ship's commander will be waiting for us,” said Miss Connor. The group gathered around Harry, and put fingers on the port key.

“Activate,” Harry whispered, and they were whisked away with a blur of appendages.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was shocked. He had expected the Commonwealth to provide a Wizarding tent or something of the sort... but to bring a fearsome military vessel inside of England's borders? The Minister will have a fit!

“Well, this is most certainly unexpected, Albus,” said McGonagall. They were observing from the massive front doors to the castle.

“I had expected something somewhat... smaller,” Dumbledore confessed. “I have to protest this intrusion.”

“And have the Commonwealth pull Harry away from the school altogether? You'll do no such thing, Albus. I have to wonder why is it you keep provoking the boy?”

“There are things in motion which all depend on young Harry. If he continues on the path he's on, he will forsake his destiny, and our world will be consumed by darkness. It is that simple,” Dumbledore answered, gravely.

“I can only see a boy who is more than happy with the circle of friends around him. If there is a part for him to play in our future then let it be. Continuously provoking him will only lead to more grief for him, and for the school. You do remember the last meeting of the board of governors?”

“Yes, I remember all too well.” Dumbledore frowned, seeing the plane-like object fly out of the side of the ship.

“I would rather it be some time before I must take over your duties full-time, Albus. But you keep at whatever you're playing at, and that is exactly what will happen.”

“Oh, I strongly doubt that. The Commonwealth may protest and make noise now and then, but where it matters, there isn't a lot they can do. Not being a member of the Confederation significantly limits their influence.”

“My opinion, however, along with the opinions of my colleagues, most certainly DO count, now, don't they?” said McGonagall, waspishly. “I do truly take exception to your attitude toward Potter; it borders on obsession.”

* * *

The group landed in what looked like an upscale reception area. Harry landed on his feet this time, and wasted no time helping Tommy to his feet—he was the only one to land uncomfortably. Port key travel was old hat for most of them by this point.

“Mr. Potter? Welcome aboard.” The speaker was an elderly man, and by the uniform he wore, Harry knew he was the ship's captain. He had a ruddy face, and grey eyes.

“Sir,” Harry simply said.

“Captain Stephen O'Toole,” said the man, “Welcome aboard the HMS Ragnar.”

“Thank you for coming. I, uh, didn't expect this.”

“The crown is displeased with the continued obsessive attention the nation of your birth continues to foist on you, Mr. Potter. Commander Tyrone Dawson, I'm the Ragnar's XO, and your comfort will be my responsibility during your stay with us.” He offered a hand, and Harry shook it.

“Uh, this is Mazhe, Justin, and Tommy, and--” Harry began to introduce.

“Albert Sampson, and my colleague, Joyce Conner, Crown Attorney's office.”

“Naturally, we're handling things from a legal standpoint,” said Miss Connor.

“I have your contact information in my mobile,” said Justin.

“Uh, if you'll follow me then, I'll show you all to the guest quarters you've been assigned,” said Commander Dawson.

From the outside, the Ragnar looked enormous. Inside, she was colossal. It seemed to take nearly a half-hour to get from the entry hall to the guest quarters. There were numerous corridors, several flights of stairs, and an elevator ride before they at last arrived.

“This place is enormous,” Harry commented.

“Lots of expansion charms, and of course you know of the Orb of Magnus. It was instrumental in the construction,” the commander explained.

“The government still hasn't scratched the surface of what it's capable of, Harry,” Justin reminded him.

“Here we are,” said Commander Dawson, as they came to a stop in front of a set of double doors. He put his hand on the doors, and they momentarily glowed blue before opening on their own accord. “Come on inside.”

“Damn,” said Tommy, as they walked in. It was a modern version of the set of rooms they'd been provided with back at Hogwarts. There was a large if simple fireplace along one wall, with seating for at least ten people. Doors led off the room on both sides, with a set of windows opposite the fireplace, affording them a view of the outside—in this case, Hogwarts and its grounds.

“Through the door to your left, is a more formal conference room. Since this place is yours for the long term, feel free to adjust things to your liking. The door to the right leads to a suite of rooms, more than enough for all of you—and it's my understanding you have a few friends back at the castle and such. Once you get settled, we'll set up appropriate security clearance so they may be allowed to visit.”

“Though I doubt Dumbledore will ever allow it,” Harry muttered.

“Let us worry about Dumbledore,” said Miss Connor.

“Thanks for doing this. I didn't sleep very well the last couple of nights—even with my circle of friends around me. I don't trust the old man far as I can throw him.”

“What about meals and stuff like that?” Tommy asked.

“You're all welcome to join the crew in the mess hall, but if you like, we can have meals sent here. The conference room can double as a dining room,” Commander Dawson explained.

“I guess... for now, I'd like for us to eat in private,” Harry decided, “If that's okay with everyone else. Even as kind a gesture as this is, I'm not cool with the extra attention. It's one of the reasons I don't like shopping in Diagon Alley.”

“That is to be expected. But realize, Mr. Potter, you are the most important person in our world, that coming from the Guardians of the Magnus. The government wants to ensure you're protected and equipped with the proper tools and knowledge for when the time comes for you to face your destiny.”

Harry let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair.

“I guess I should expect that by now. At least you guys aren't coddling me and keeping me in the dark about things. Contrary to Dumbledore and the stupid British Ministry.”

“On the issue of your ongoing lessons and training. Once you get settled, call up to the AIC—” the commander pointed to a telephone set on the wall by the door, “It's One-two-zero. We'll send someone down to show you where the ship's library and research facility is, as well as the athletic centre.”

“What's AIC?” Harry asked.

“Action Information Centre,” the Commander answered, “It's the operations centre for the ship. For now, strictly off limits for all of you, as are a number of other places, given the military nature of the ship.”

“I understand.”

“We'll keep him from wandering too far,” said Justin, smirking.

“And Mr. Fraser. There is a satellite office for your Ministry here as well, I'll have someone show you where it is later on.”

“Well. That makes things easy,” said Justin.

“So not everyone's military here then,” Tommy guessed.

“No. The Ragnar's military in nature, but it's grown to a reasonable-sized city over the years.”

“How old is she?”

“The keel was laid in 1934, and she was finished ten years later. What you see now is the result of many years of expansions and improvements.”

“If my knowledge of these ships is right, there is a push on to have a civilian government established and make them official cities of the Commonwealth rather than simply fighting platforms.”

“There has been much talk about that, yes,” the Commander agreed, “But Captain O'Toole and the commanders of the other ships disagree with that. We are first and foremost a fighting platform, built to enforce the safety and sovereignty of Valicadia.”

“And you?”

“I have to agree with my captain. We are here to preserve democracy, not to practice it.”(1)

“ _XO report to the AIC_ ,” came a voice from the speaker below the telephone set. They could also hear it outside, over the public address system.

“Forgive me, looks like I'm needed,” said the Commander, “Take some time to get settled in, and I'll try and get back down in an hour or so.”

“Thank you, Commander,” said Harry. The Commander gave a salute, then left the suite.

“This is outstanding,” said Justin, looking impressed.

“C'mon, let's get settled. Harry, maybe you could call Dobby and get him to bring our stuff from the castle,” Mazhe suggested.

“Yeah, good thinking. Let's pick out rooms first though...”

By the time dinner rolled around, they had settled into rooms, and had Dobby collect everything from the guest rooms at Hogwarts. Harry then had the elf deliver a letter to Professor McGonagall thanking her for the temporary accommodations over the weekend, and equally informing her they had now settled into more long-term accommodations thanks to the Commonwealth. He also asked for a class schedule, letting her know an owl would reach him even though he was on board the ship.

Later that evening, a reply came by owl. Surprisingly, the bird flew right through the window, as if the glass were not there at all. It was obviously a school owl, and Harry quickly relieved it of its letter. It did not wait for a reply but simply took off, leaving the way it came. Harry grinned, seeing Tommy's expression.

“You've not met Hedwig yet.”

“Where is she anyway, Harry?” Justin asked.

“With the Weasleys. Now that I'm sort of back at Hogwarts, guess I should fetch her.”

Harry broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the parchment inside. There were actually two items, one of which being the class schedule.

_Potter,_

_Though I know you aren't happy about being back at Hogwarts, it is good to somewhat have you back with us, and I say that only with honest intentions. Find enclosed your class schedule for this year. I do not know what sort of lessons and training you have been receiving so far this term, but if you wish to attend classes, it is not that late in the term for you to get caught up. I will avail myself should you need any extra tutoring, although knowing what you do, that is unlikely._

_Our first Hogsmeade weekend will be November 20, and our last day of term is December 16._

_Should you have any further questions or concerns, do not hesitate to come visit me in my office, or send me an owl._

_Best wishes and the best of luck in the tournament._

_Professor McGonagall_

Harry gave a brief smile, as he slid the parchment back into its envelope. Professor McGonagall was definitely an ally at the school, although those were generally hard to come by these days. Most of the school was giving him frigid glares and downright shunning him, thinking he was a cheat, somehow managing to trick an extremely old and powerful magical artefact.

Of all the students, however, Malfoy and his henchmen were the worst. They had managed to create badges which alternated between “Support Cedric Diggory” and “Potter Stinks”. There was no way the Slytherins had managed to do that, he mused. More than likely Malfoy had paid someone to do the charms. There was nothing that would convince Harry otherwise.

Naturally, the _Daily Prophet_ was having a field day with regards to his entry into the tournament, calling him a cheat and an attention-getter. Hermione had been sure to show them the previous editions, and the Commonwealth lawyers were making lots of notes from them. There was a question of whether the Commonwealth would be able to do anything about it, and once again, Harry certainly appreciated the effort the government was putting into his comfort.

* * *

_12 November, 2004 / 12 Sun's Dusk, 4E199_

The week had moved along pretty quickly all in all. He realized he didn't have to do too much as far as the schedule was concerned, with the afternoon free on Wednesdays, and the mornings free on Tuesdays, he was able to change his training schedule with his teachers in Riften. They were all aware, of course, that there would likely be times he would still miss, considering the tournament, among other things.

He otherwise took part in the regular year four schedule, and had just left Potions, heading up to the Great Hall for dinner. Snape was slightly less-volitile this year, bordering on fair for a change. The lesson had covered antidotes, and Harry had received an 'A' for the period. Occupied with his thoughts, he never saw it coming.

Next thing Harry knew, he was looking at the white-washed ceiling of the hospital wing.

“...completely unacceptable, headmaster! He is a guest of the school and yet this happens!” Alice was breathing fire, letting the bumbling buffoon have it with both barrels. “Harry won't be spending another second within this castle's walls, if he doesn't want to... never in all my life...”

“Harry?!” He turned to find Hermione sitting at his bedside, and she wasn't alone. Ron was there, as was Mazhe, Justin, and surprisingly, Tommy. Harry tried to move, but found he was bound from the neck down.

“Right mess you've got yourself into, Mr. Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey, frowning, and shooing the others out of the way so she could check on him.

“What happened?” Harry found his voice raspy and dry.

“Bludgeoning curse. You're lucky they didn't break your spinal cord, but I've been forced to regrow your spine. You'll be in for a rough night. Drink this.”

“Regrow his spine?”

Tommy looked ill at the thought, as Madam Pomfrey pressed a cup to Harry's lips. Harry took a gulp, and promptly sprayed the bed with it.

“Uhg!”

“What do you expect, young man, pumpkin juice?!”

Harry grimaced, and took another gulp of the nasty concoction, narrowly able to force it down. He swallowed.

“Last... thing I remember... I was headed up to the Great Hall after Potions.”

“A Prefect found you in the dungeons an hour ago. We contacted Professor McGonagall when you didn't return to the ship at 7 o'clock as we agreed,” said Justin.

“What... what time is it now?”

“Going on midnight,” Justin answered.

“We were just going to find McGonagall ourselves,” said Hermione, “You did say you were going to take dinner with us.”

“Yeah, Hermione thought it was odd when you didn't show,” Ron threw in.

“Thanks for looking out for me, guys, but... you've got class in the morning. G-get some rest.”

“Harry...”

“I'm okay. Really, guys.” Harry thought for a moment. “Justin, I... need you to take Mazhe back to the College and let Tolfdir know I won't be able to teach my morning Alteration class tomorrow.”

“I can see to that myself, Harry, Tolfdir knows who I am.”

“Uh, right. Okay.”

“You're sure you're okay, Harry?” Hermione pressed.

“I'll be fine. These guys have my back as it is. Get some sleep, guys, I mean it.”

Hermione got up and gave Harry's hand a squeeze. Then, with Ron following, she left the hospital wing.

“She's a keeper, Harry,” said Tommy.

“I think if she wasn't forced to attend here, she would likely stick with us instead—”

Harry let out a hiss, feeling the powerful potion begin to take effect. It was going to be a long night indeed. Justin gave Harry a pointed look, but he too stood up and left the room.

“You won't be walking the castle alone from this point onward,” said Mazhe, as though his say was final. “That's if you want to stay at all. I think it's a better idea if you stay away from this castle altogether, even with the extra protection detail.” He jerked his head toward the door.

It was then Harry noticed the extra people. Two individuals, dressed in black uniforms, standing rigidly on either side of the doors.

“Who are they?”

“Justin said they were members of the Special Operations Unit, some specialized unit that's under the direct authority of the Queen,” Mazhe answered.

“Special forces,” Tommy clarified.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everyone having to bend over backward for me! I hate this!” Harry shouted. He again tried to sit up, forgetting he was practically frozen from the neck down.

“And shouting ain't gonna help it either.”

“Make me feel better though,” Harry snapped, “Gods.”

“Harry, I only want—”

“OH, look who it is, my favourite person in the WHOLE world,” Harry snarked, sarcastically. “Finally decided to wade into the conversation, did we?”

“Now Harry...”

“Piss off, you useless wanker.”

“I will not be spoken to in that manner, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, dangerously.

Mazhe and Tommy stood up.

“Harry's not interested in speaking to you right now. Leave,” said Mazhe, a purple orb forming in his left hand.

“I assure you, this event is most disturbing, and although I know you don't believe it, I am truly sorry this happened to you, Harry. The professors are conducting a thorough investigation to get to the bottom of who might be responsible, and they will be punished accordingly.”

“Trust me, headmaster, I already have a way of finding out who was responsible, and I'll see to that shortly. That's all I'll say on the matter right now. Mr. Jarvis?!”

“What do you need?”

“Can you come here a second?”

“Of course.”

Everyone watched while Will approached the bed. Harry asked him to bend close, and whispered something in his ear. Will reached into Harry's pocket, and collected something.

“You're sure about this?”

“Yeah. And the other thing. I think Ron's got it.”

“Alice and I will look after things.” Will looked at Dumbledore. “I think you'd better go. You've got a school to run, don't you?”

“Alas, I do. Get well, Harry.”

Harry watched the headmaster leave, along with the two social workers.

“What did you ask Will to do?” Tommy asked.

“I can't tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It's just better none of you know, okay? You have to trust me.” Harry thought for a moment. “Did anyone let Sirius and Remus know?”

“They should be here shortly,” said Mazhe, “At least that's what Miss Wheeler was saying.”

“Here, Mr. Potter. One more dose of Skele-Gro, and a dreamless sleep potion. It'll help you rest while the medicine does the work,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“Thank you... I think.” He looked at his friends. “Stay with me?”

“Always,” said Mazhe.

“Likewise. Shit, you're a magnet for trouble,” said Tommy.

“Not telling me anything I don't know.” He lifted his head up to take the foul potion. He was out of it in under a minute.

“Just so we're all on the same page. He goes nowhere alone away from the Ragnar,” said Tommy, firmly.

“I'll let Farengar know I'm tied up here for the foreseeable future. Harry means the world to me and it would destroy me to know that something happened and I could have prevented it. Even the incident here bothers me greatly. The Arch-mage is going to be in a rage when he finds out!”

Mazhe glanced over at the door, where the two black-clad soldiers stood at the ready.

“Wonder if they're temporary, or permanent?”

“Permanent would be a solution. This is where Justin could've been a help here. Knows more about the working of the government than any of us,” said Mazhe. “Gods, what a mess.”

Sometime later, Tommy woke to see someone stuffing something in Harry's pocket. He was about to confront the individual, but relaxed, realizing it was Will, likely returning whatever it was he'd taken earlier. Mazhe was sleeping at this point, likely no more comfortable than he was.

Waiting for Will to leave, he quietly got up and went to Harry's bed, and reached into his pocket. He was only looking, right? The item turned out to be what looked like an hourglass suspended in the middle of a hoop, attached to a long chain. It was a strange object, that was for certain. Clearly, Mr. Jarvis had needed it for something... but what exactly? He'd seen the man leave, and he looked rather pleased with himself. He carefully replaced the item.

“Shouldn't be snooping in other people's pockets.”

Tommy gave a start, and flexed, about ready to nail whoever it was who'd snuck up on him. It was one of the S.O.U. soldiers.

“Just curious,” he answered, calming himself down. Having a go at someone in SpecOps was suicide, plain and simple, no matter WHAT country they were from.

“Some things are better left unanswered, Mr. Riordan, don't you agree?”

“Secrets don't do anyone any good either.” 'Says you,' his inner conscience said. He mentally shoved that thought off into a corner.

“That is also true. Secrets do have a way of coming out, they always do. Just trust that Mr. Potter will tell you when he's ready.”

“So... your detail... this temporary, or permanent?”

“For as long as Mr. Potter is in the castle. Meaning, for the foreseeable future. I'm part of a platoon assigned to your security. Lieutenant Commander Brandon McAllister, Her Majesty's Special Operations Unit.”

Brandon offered a hand, and Tommy shook it.

“You used to be military, too, if my intel is correct.”

“United States Marine Corps.”

“Bad business that was. Though I cannot relate directly, friendly fire incidents are always demoralizing. We've had our share... treat that sort of thing like a crime in the Commonwealth... at least until proven otherwise.”

“But it doesn't fix things once it's done. Shit like that shouldn't happen in the first place.”

Brandon could tell he was taking the conversation in a dangerous direction.

“You're fitting in well with Harry and his friends?”

“Yeah. Harry's a good kid. Acts older than he is.”

“He has to. You know about what he has to face eventually?”

“He's told me enough. Your world is just as fucked up as ours is, I guess.”

“Very true. Magic is only a part of someone, not all of it. So even though someone's a witch or a wizard, it still comes back to the choices they make; what they decide to do with that gift.

“Many years ago, there was another young man named Tom... Tom Riddle. He was orphaned at birth, mistreated as a child, and offered very poor guidance when he attended Hogwarts. While he studied here, he began to gather followers, and eventually invented a new name for himself...”

Brandon pulled his wand from a holster strapped to his forearm, and used it to write: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE in the air. With a gesture, the letters rearranged to form the words: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.

“The worst dark wizard in recent memory. People here are still afraid to say his name... they call him 'You-know-who', or 'He-who-must-not-be-named'.”

“Afraid of a name?” Tommy shook his head.

“Even in the Commonwealth, there were some who were terrified of what he could do. He wanted you dead, you died, it was that simple. You remember those green flashes of light during the fiasco at SPARTA?”

“How could I forget?”

“The killing curse. It was Voldemort's favourite. And, on October 31st, 1991, he broke into the home of James and Lily Potter, after hearing a prophecy that could refer to their son. He killed them both, then turned the wand on Harry.”

“He was afraid of a baby?” To Tommy, it sounded ludicrous.

“I know. It's completely insane. But some people think the Dark Lord was insane at the time. Anyway, he used his favourite curse a third time in the Potter residence... with unexpected results.”

“The boy-who-lived,” Tommy remembered.

“Yes. That scar on his forehead... you notice it always looks fresh and angry?”

“Because that's where the... spell hit.”

“Exactly. It's why he's famous. And... it's why we have to do everything we can to ensure he's ready when the time comes to face Voldemort again.”

“That is the only reason I have done such as I have.”

Both Tommy and Brandon turned to see Dumbledore standing a short distance away from the bed, dimly lit by the light coming through the windows.

“No, professor, the only thing you continue to do is undermine the efforts of the Commonwealth, and get him back within your clutches. He spends all of four days within this castle's walls, and something outrageous happens. His training schedule for—” Brandon looked at his watch a moment, “—today is now out the window, as is likely tomorrow's. The government is now forced to spend more money and resources providing security for her majesty's ward... because you either can't or won't. I'd love to know which it is, headmaster.”

“We take the security of our students here very seriously, mister—”

“Brandon McAllister, Her Majesty's Special Operations Unit. I guess it is appropriate that I hand you this...”

Brandon dug into his utility vest, and pulled out a sealed parchment.

“Given the chaos earlier, I didn't have time.” He handed it over to the headmaster.

Dumbledore opened it. The writing was in deep-blue ink, and the parchment was expensive. There was an elaborate herald at the top of the parchment—the Royal herald of the Commonwealth, Dumbledore remembered. He didn't have a chance to actually read it, as it seemed to morph into an angry face, exactly like a howler.

“ _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,”_ came the Queen's rather loud voice. 

Brandon had recently experienced her displeasure in person, and suppressed a shudder, but smirked. Dumbledore was about to get a taste of it himself.

“ _Let it be known that We, Queen Susan the Second, Queen of Valicadia, are greatly displeased with you and the governing body of England's Wizarding community._

“ _By your position, you are expected to provide some level of security to all who reside at or visit Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Instead, Our ward has befallen a grave injury having spent only four days in and about your supposedly safe institution. This, along with the number of past incidents involving Our ward and numerous others, make it very clear to Us you have no interest in providing adequate security for Our said ward._

“ _It is therefore Our royal directive that a detachment of Our Special Operations Unit be assigned to provide security to Our ward. Be it also directed that, should you or Magical England move to interfere with Our placed security, we will remove Our ward from your school, even if that action would go against the spirit of the tournament magical England is so determined Our ward participate in._

_Given at Our Court at Trevelyan in the thirty-sixth year of Our Reign, by the grace of our creators, Queen Susan the Second.”_

The parchment shredded itself into a thousand tiny pieces.

“Someone done got served,” Tommy mocked, viciously. In the short time around Harry, he had already formed a dislike for the man. And over the past few hours seeing his behaviour, only cemented that opinion.

“If it is what her majesty requires, then so be it,” said Dumbledore, sadly.

“And just so we're clear here, we perceive you as a threat to her majesty's ward, headmaster. Wards are being placed on his property and his person for his protection, and under no circumstances will he ever be permitted to be alone with you,” said Brandon, with finality.

“I see.”

“No, you don't,” said Tommy.

“I agree,” said Brandon, “You only say that, but trust me when I say, there are a lot of eyes watching you, headmaster. We know you have a lot of political pull, but there is a limit to even that. One day those favours you can pull in will dry up, and you will answer for the things you are doing, and have done in the past.”

“Someone just got read the riot act,” said Mazhe, sleepily. As he focused clearly, he frowned, seeing the headmaster present.

“Professor Dumbledore was just leaving,” said Brandon. Dumbledore gave them all another sad look, and retreated from the room.

“Harry's still asleep?”

“Soundly by the looks of it,” said Brandon, “It'll be a while before he wakes.”

“You heard us talking earlier?”

“Somewhat.”

“How closely will you guys be following us?”

“There'll be one of us with Harry at all times. Two of us in the Great Hall during meals. Two will be stationed outside of your suite on board the Ragnar, and she is our base of operations.”

“Good. I know Harry will hate it, but really. They don't deserve him.”

“You're right, um, Mazhe, they don't. But none of us deserve the chaos and fear that would unfold should Voldemort come back. Even if a select few can't appreciate how important Harry is, it is his destiny. It's our job to make sure he can live up to it and get the job done when the time comes.”

“I guess that's the thing that's keeping me focused right now,” said Tommy. “Everything I knew... family... brother... gone. If... I can help here... I don't feel lost. Miss Ferris was happy to hear that when I told her.”

“Something to fight for.”

That got a slow nod from Tommy.

“Just, whatever you do, don't hurt him. He needs to be surrounded by people he can trust. So what I mean, is don't do something that betrays his trust,” said Mazhe, “He might as well be my brother, that goes without saying, right?”

“I know.”

“What he means, Tom, is there will be some out there who might try and use you to get to Harry. Just be aware of that. If someone's acting a little too nice to you, or they offer you food, treats, something to drink, all of it could be a set up.”

“Something in the food,” Tommy guessed.

“Yes. Potions can be mixed with things that can be eaten or drank, although many of them lose their potency if used in such a way,” Brandon explained. “Example, someone puts a strong sleeping potion in a cupcake, and gives it to you.”

“I'd be knocked out and they could do whatever they want with me.”

“Exactly. Continuing the scenario, yes, they knock you out, take you to a secluded location, and cast a Confundus charm on you. Convince you that you need to attack Harry. Or lead Harry away from the grounds, where someone far more dangerous could be waiting. Wost case, they cast the Imperius curse on you. You're by now familiar with the three unforgivable curses?”

“Yeah. They've made sure.”

“You know what the Imperius curse does then.”

Another slow nod from Tommy.

“The whole point here, magic is a wonderful gift, ability and so on, but it can be used to do terrible things. Harry has a lot of enemies here, and even as students, they can pull off some terrible acts.”

“Never mind people like Dumbledore,” Mazhe threw in, scowling, “Gods... the man's obsessive in his schemes around Harry.”

“Yes, including Dumbledore. Oh, he would never stoop to doing anything on his own—”

“Not true,” came Harry's sleepy voice.

“Harry. You should still be asleep,” said Mazhe, arching an eyebrow.

“Should, but aren't.” He tried to sit up, but couldn't, still in a body bind.

“Eric, you mind fetching Madam Pomfrey?”

“No, I'm fine—ow.”

His entire back felt like it was being stabbed many times over, as the medicine continued to do its work. The other S.O.U. soldier, meanwhile, disappeared into an office close to the doors leading out of the hospital wing.

“Err... Dumbledore already has tried to Obliviate me once, he's tried to cast a compulsion charm on me once, he's tampered with my guardians, he's seized my inheritance and all my bank vaults, hired incompetent teachers... so yeah, he's capable—ow.” His back flared again.

The second soldier returned with Madam Pomfrey in tow.

“Good grief, Mr. Potter, that potion should have made you rest all night.”

“Should've, but didn't.”

“We'll just have to give you another, then. It's either that or you be in excruciating pain for the night.”

“I think I'll take the option behind door number one.”

Madam Pomfrey produced another sleeping potion.

* * *

Classes became somewhat awkward for the next while. As expected, Dumbledore chose not to warn the teaching staff about the security arrangements, but left it up to Harry to have to explain things.

Professor Sprout was more than cordial, welcoming the extra guests and inviting them to pull up stools and join the lesson. Brandon declined, choosing to remain at the door to the greenhouse, since he was working an official assignment, and participating in the lesson would be a distraction.

Hagrid behaved the same as Professor Sprout, also inviting Harry's extra friends to join in the lesson, and likewise, only Justin participated this time. Or in this case, he worked somewhat like a teaching assistant, having taken Care of Magical Creatures as a student back in the Commonwealth. Hagrid was quite impressed with his knowledge.

Professor Babbling, meanwhile, was less accommodating, being rather cold toward the intruders, all but forcing Mazhe to stand by the door with Eric, the other S.O.U. soldier. This action made Harry feel bad for his friend, considering it was a double period which was supposed to last until dinner.

“Fine then,” Harry decided, “Guys...”

“Leaving the classroom will lose you points, Mr. Potter,” said the professor.

“I'm not officially here as a student, Professor. You could give my friend the courtesy as a guest of the school, but you instead treat him as a nuisance.”

“The headmaster did not inform me he sanctioned the addition of 'personal security', Mr. Potter.”

“Be it as it may, Professor, your headmaster has no say in the matter. Now if you will not accommodate two extra people in your classroom, then Harry will continue his study of this course on his own time, and sit your exam at the end of the school year,” said Eric, evenly.

Professor Babbling huffed, then indicated a vacant desk beside Harry—there seemed to be a lot of those as of late.

“Thank you, Professor,” said Harry, “For your information, this is Mazhe, and Eric.”

Mid-way through the lesson, there came a knock at the door.

“Come in,” said Professor Babbling.

The door opened, revealing Colin Creevey.

“May I help you?”

“Excuse me, but... I'm supposed to take Harry Potter downstairs,” Colin explained.

“For what reason?” Eric questioned, regarding the boy sharply.

“Mr. Bagman wants him... sir...” Colin answered nervously, seeing the imposing soldier. He looked intimidating in his uniform. “All the champions have to go... they're taking photographs.”

Harry resisted the urge to bang his head on his desk. That was the last thing he needed at this point. Likely some publicity shoot or the like.

“Can I decline?”

“I... don't think so, Harry,” Colin answered.

Harry cursed under his breath.

“Forgive the second distraction, Professor. I'd honestly rather to continue with the class.”

“You may go,” Professor Babbling said simply.

The classroom they had picked was on the first floor. It was relatively small, and all the furniture had been pushed aside, save for a few desks, set up for what was clearly a photo shoot. The other champions were already present: Viktor Krum stood off by himself, not talking to anyone, while Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delecour were engaged in light conversation. There was a man holding a large black camera present, and he looked eager to begin. Ludo Bagman was also there, and Harry had only got a little way into the room before he was spotted.

"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment—“

"Wand weighing?" Harry repeated nervously.

“Now just a second,” said Eric, pulling out his mobile phone. “We should have been better informed of any sort of function related to the tournament—I assume this is a tournament function?”

“Indeed it is, indeed it is!” said Bagman, clearly excited about the whole affair. Eric frowned a moment, but punched in a number.

“Miss Connor? Second Lieutenant Gomrass with Harry's protection detail... no, nothing serious... no... tournament function... how do I proceed? ...Okay, will do...” He pressed a button on the mobile, then re-clipped it to his belt.

“If you want Harry's cooperation, we're gonna have to wait about twenty minutes for legal council.”

“But surely—”

“Mr. Bagman, Mr. Potter did not willingly enter this tournament. No offence, Mr. Diggory, Mr. Krum, and Miss Delecour, but as it stands, anything surrounding the tournament will be observed by Commonwealth legal council. They have told me to pass on word that he is not obligated to participate in any function outside of the three official tasks the tournament entails, as par the official tournament rules.”

“Indeed, it is as the rules are written. I believe we can wait, considering the expert is still upstairs, speaking with Professor Dumbledore. After the wand-weighing, there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter. She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the _Daily Prophet_.”

It was then they noticed the witch sitting at one of the desks. She wore magenta robes, jewelled spectacles, and had a bag with her made of crocodile skin. Her fingernails were at least two inches long, and they were painted crimson. Her outfit screamed obnoxious.

“Well, maybe not that small, Ludo,” said the witch, her eyes on Harry. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of colour?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if Harry has no objection?"

"Actually, I do," said Harry, bluntly.

“Are you sure? Just a few words--”

“Excuse me, madam, but do you understand the common language?” asked Mazhe, nastily.

“I beg your pardon?” Rita looked offended.

“I asked if you understand the common language. Or better yet, do you understand what the word NO means?”

Rita looked like she'd been slapped, but smiled again, turning her attention back to Harry.

“It's for the _Prophet_ , Harry, surely—“

“I said, NO. As in, I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”

Harry turned back to Ludo Bagman.

“I will participate in the wand-weighing, but not the photo shoot.”

The two Commonwealth attorneys actually arrived before Dumbledore.

“I trust things are in order?” Miss Connor asked.

“They are now. Rita Skeeter wanted to interview me, I told her no.”

“Though she tried to persist,” said Mazhe, sourly.

“We'll only be staying for the actual ceremony. Harry, they may still take pictures of the actual ceremony.”

“Fine. But I won't remain for the photo shoot after.”

From there, the actual ceremony only took about twenty minutes, as Mr. Ollivander examined each of the four wands, and commented on their make and their condition. Harry was more than glad to escape the room. After the encounter with Rita, he felt like he needed a soak under the shower back on board the Ragnar.

While Harry, Mazhe, and Eric left, however, the Commonwealth attorneys remained behind, delivering three envelopes to the other champions. The _Daily Prophet_ was likely to write up a nasty article. The _National Daily Chronicle_ , on the other hand, might produce something far more constructive.

* * *

The following morning was his weekly blacksmithing lesson in Riften, but even so, Harry was laden with an extra member. It seemed like the Queen's directive was a little more far-reaching than first thought. Tommy had his meeting with Healer Ferris, but Justin and Mazhe made the trip, since there was always ways to occupy themselves while Harry attended his lesson. Brandon and Eric were content to watch, not having seen blacksmithing of that nature before.

The afternoon Potions lesson was somewhat...interesting as well. Harry somewhat dreaded it, considering he never exactly got along with Snape. They had all came to the consensus that, if a teacher wasn't willing to cooperate, then Harry wouldn't attend. Better to just continue independently, rather than be a disruption.

Malfoy had tried to stir the pot, but very quickly shut his mouth, seeing Brandon present. Mistaking him for a Muggle had proven even more embarrassing, as Brandon had simply smiled, drawing his wand.

“Mr. Malfoy, is it? You might consider weighing your options before engaging something without knowing all the factors.”

“Is that a threat?” Pansy Parkinson sneered.

“No, it's something called common sense.”

The door to the classroom was yanked open, and the imposing professor leered over the students.

“Well? Inside. Now.”

Everyone filed in, with Harry and his escorts being the last.

“Do tell, Potter, why is it that you bring two additional... individuals into my classroom... one of them being a _Muggle_?” Snape sneered.

“For my protection, Professor. If this is not acceptable, I won't attend class, and complete my assignments for you on my own.”

“I see.” Snape seemed to think on the matter a moment. “Names.”

“Brandon McAllister, Her Majesty's Special Operations Unit.”

“And Tom Riordan.”

“Sir, there may be alternates, particularly if this match doesn't work.”

“ _If this match doesn't work_ ,” Snape drawled, then snapped, “This is not a revolving door where you may parade around your merry band of misfits and miscreants, Potter. This is a classroom.”

That earned a snigger out of Malfoy and his burly friends.

“In which you are expected to teach a lesson, Professor. Might I suggest we get started, rather than wasting time debating an issue that has long since been resolved?” Brandon pressed.

Snape gave Brandon a look that could kill.

“You. Sit. There.”

Snape jerked a bony finger at Tommy, indicating he take a seat at the workbench beside Harry and Hermione.

“Open your books to page one-thirty-six. Instructions are...” he gestured with his wand, and a set of instructions appeared on the blackboard, “on the blackboard. You have until the end of the period.”

Harry was more than thankful when the bell rang to end the period. Snape was definitely not impressed with the intrusion. Gryffindor had certainly paid for it, even though Harry was no longer officially a student. Neville had nearly melted his cauldron at least three times during the lesson, all from the extra nervousness that came with Snape's extra sour mood.

At dinner, Harry was momentarily startled as an owl dropped a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in front of him. His heart sank, as his eyes fell on the photo which took up most of the page. It was the photo took as Harry handed Mr. Ollivander his wand to have it weighed, and it kept playing over and over again. _HARRY POTTER: Troubled boy or attention-seeker?_ The headline proclaimed.

The article was a page-turner, and for the wrong reasons. Even without an interview, the vile reporter had interviewed other students, none of them of which he considered anywhere near a friend. Malfoy? Were they kidding?! Given the circumstances, most of the population of Hogwarts was quite willing to say anything, if it did damage. Who cared if it was true or not?

He snatched the paper angrily, and shredded it into tiny pieces.

“Not helping, Harry,” said Hermione, sympathetically. That only earned a glare from the boy.

“I'm ready to murder her in her sleep.”

“Definitely won't help,” said Brandon, who stood behind them. “Though I don't need to tell you that.”

“Wouldn't blame him though. From what Mazhe said, the woman was a douche bag,” said Tommy, who had taken the spot beside Harry.

That got a scandalous glare from Hermione.

“You can't say that here!” she admonished.

Brandon couldn't help but smirk. Tommy had summed up the vile woman quite nicely.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry grinned, clapping his muscular friend on the back, “Though calling her, err—” he did his best not to laugh, considering the glares they were getting from Hermione. “Well... but seriously.”

“I'm sure the Commonwealth will put a muzzle on her pretty quick,” said Brandon, with a vicious smirk.

Charms the following morning went very smoothly, with Professor Flitwick being very welcoming of the two additions to the classroom. Brandon again took point by the doorway, but Mazhe was keen to participate, having been around Harry and his way of doing magic for long enough. Flitwick was both curious and impressed that someone raised in a different world was easily able participate in the lesson (Mazhe borrowed Harry's wand during the practical part of the lesson).

That afternoon saw Harry again return to Riften, this time for his weekly session with Niruin first (Archery), and then Delvin (Stealth). They took dinner in the Ragged Flagon, rather than try and make it back to Hogwarts. Harry had been sure to let his friends know he would not return that night.

The following morning, Harry arrived at breakfast to whispers and stares.

“Now what's wrong?” he muttered, as he took a seat at his usual place.

“It's Rita Skeeter. She's been reported missing,” said Hermione.

Harry smirked viciously.

“Good. Maybe someone's shut her up. I strongly doubt I was the only one she pissed off in her long, _illustrious_ career.”

“Harry, this is serious. The last article she published was about you!”

“And I was here at the school, or back on business in the Commonwealth. I have more than enough witnesses that can vouch for my whereabouts. Though quite honestly, I don't feel sorry for her. Tommy summed her up quite nicely—Gods, I felt like I needed a shower after talking for her all of thirty seconds.”

“And where is Mr. Riordan this morning?” Ginny asked. She tended to sit close to her brother, and Harry, of course.

“He's got other business he tends to in the mornings. You normally won't find him around the castle before lunch.”

“He is quite fit.”

“And he won't appreciate someone like you eyeing him either, Gin,” said Ron, rolling his eyes.

“He's about three times your age anyway,” Harry smirked.

“About that. All your friends look about twice your age. I noticed.”

“It's where I grew up, Ginny. Mazhe, well, he's closest to my own age, but he's still five years older than me.”

“Oh, you mean the ginger boy.” Lavender Brown had decided to weigh in on the conversation.

“Sorry, ladies, but I think Mazhe might be spoken for as well. And even if he wasn't, I have a feeling he doesn't play your end of the pitch, if you get my drift.”

“You mean he's bent?” Lavender was disappointed.

“Is that what they call it?” Harry shrugged. Brandon coughed, but Harry could tell he was covering up a laugh. “But I'm just guessing there, right?”

“And where is he this morning anyway?”

“He has classes of his own, uh, elsewhere... where I would be, if I weren't here,” Harry answered.

Immediately after dinner, as Harry and Brandon returned to the Ragnar, they found Mazhe looking a little out of sorts.

“What happened?”

“Harry. There's something you need to see. Bring your invisibility cloak.”

“I insist on coming,” said Brandon, producing his own cloak.

“What's going on?”

“You won't believe it unless you see it, just, I'm sure it's got something to do with the tournament,” said Mazhe, shaking his head. Harry huffed, but he trusted his best friend.

Seconds later, the three of them landed softly at the edge of a clearing in a wooded area. There were shouts in the distance, and occasionally, Harry thought he caught a sudden burst of fire. Mazhe simply gripped him by the shoulder, and led them onward, toward the racket.

“Cover us with your invisibility cloak... Brandon, same thing. I don't know if we're supposed to know about this or not.”

“Then maybe we shouldn't be here.”

“Trust me, you'll thank me,” answered Mazhe, as Harry threw his invisibility cloak over them. They were still walking toward the ruckus.

“Holy mother...” Brandon muttered, as they got close.

There was an enormous enclosure, inside of which were four, real, scaly, fire-breathing dragons.

“Shhh... keep your voice down, we don't want to be seen or heard,” said Mazhe, his voice barely above a whisper, as they crept closer.

The handlers, meanwhile, were having a terrible time getting the beasts calmed down, and finally resorted to stunning spells—and it took a group of them casting before it had any effect. Dragons tended to be resistant to most magic as it was. With each of them knocked out, handlers brought out a clutch of eggs wrapped in a blanket, and placed them at the side of each dragon.

“Jesus. Nesting mothers,” Brandon muttered, “They'll be extra vicious.”

Now, Harry truly appreciated what his friend had done. A dragon?! What the hell were these people thinking? And mothers protecting their young? He'd certainly experienced the terrible result of encroaching on such an animal—they hated the world during that time.

“How did you find this?”

“I, uh, sort of followed Hagrid the other night. He took Madam Maxime, the headmistress from Beauxbatons for a late-night stroll, and showed her _this_.”

“So the other schools know,” Harry assumed.

“Likely,” Mazhe agreed.

“Then I need to tell Cedric. It's only fair. If we all know, he has the right to know as well... make it a level playing field and all that. C'mon, let's get back to the Ragnar.”

* * *

_November 23, 2004 / 23 Sun's Dusk, 4E199_

The morning of the first task drew chilly and overcast. Given the overwhelming discomfort and pressure that came with it, Harry elected to eat breakfast aboard the Ragnar after the morning training session. Even though it had been getting progressively colder, he, Mazhe, Tommy, and Justin still continued their early morning routine.

“Harry listen to this,” said Justin, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in front of him, “ _Rita Skeeter was found roaming Diagon Alley absent of any clothing late yesterday evening. It is stated the missing reporter was babbling incoherently, and is now being examined by healers at St. Mungos..._ ”

Unseen by the others, Brandon smirked into his coffee.

“A bit of just desserts if you ask me,” said Mazhe, “Even I felt unclean after the encounter.” He looked at Tommy. “How will we continue with our outdoor training when the snow flies?”

“I think the Ragnar's facilities might still suffice,” said Brandon, “You guys haven't seen the virtual projection room, am I right?”

“The _what_?” Harry asked.

“Virtual projection room. Really advanced magic. The room can become whatever the user needs it to be, from a broom closet to... well, I mean, I've heard tell of a full-on battle being recreated inside it.”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Tommy muttered between bites.

“This weekend, I'll see if we might have a bit of time with it. Given it's such a useful facility, it tends to be rather busy,” Brandon explained.

“You know a lot about the ship.”

“I was a marine before I was S.O.U.,” Brandon answered, “Ragnar was my home for nearly eight years.”

“Come join us in the mornings, then,” Harry invited.

Brandon let out a laugh. “Certainly wouldn't hurt. Sure thing. Eric will probably join us too.”

The morning passed all too soon for Harry, even though he had not attended his smithing lesson in Riften. He had informed Balimund the previous week that he wouldn't be attending because of the tournament, and in hindsight, it was a wise decision. His upcoming fight with a dragon had been beyond distracting, building ever since Mazhe had shown them to him. Now, he was walking the path up to the champions' tent like a prisoner being led to the gallows. The prospect was terrifying.

Inside the tent, Ludo Bagman held open a small bag, and asked each of the champions to reach inside of it. Fleur went first, withdrawing a tiny model of a dragon: a Welsh Green. Then it was Krum (a Chinese Fireball), and Cedric (a Swedish Short-snout). That meant... Harry reached in, and drew out the last of them: a Hungarian Horntail, the nastiest of the lot. It was typical, he thought. Only he would end up with such rotten luck.

Now, it was just a waiting game, as Fleur went first. He could hear the crowd in the stadium, and from the sound they made, he could somewhat guess what was going on—he would likely get a pensieve view of the entire event later on... that's if he survived. Dragons were truly some of the most frightening animals in the magical world, or any world for that matter. In Skyrim, they had one day ruled over the world, enslaving the human and mer populations under their tyranny.

He watched as Krum left the tent as the whistle sounded. Fleur had obviously been taken somewhere else at the end of the event—unless... Harry didn't want to think about it. He knew the statistics from past tournament. Participants' deaths were common, given the dangerous nature of the tasks in them. It was one of the reasons it had been so long since the last one was held.

The whistle sounded again, and this time it was Cedric's turn, leaving him alone in the tent. Brandon and Eric stood just outside, but only the champions were allowed inside the tent itself. For the first time in quite some time, Harry felt truly alone. He had to face the dragon alone, without the help of his circle. That frightened him on some level.

Then... it was his turn. When the whistle sounded, he stepped out of the tent, dressed in his armour (though he doubted it would truly do much good against the terrifying abilities of a dragon), and put his best foot forward, wanting to show no fear as he travelled the path down to the stands erected for this event. He stepped through the gap in the enclosure.

There seemed to be thousands of people present, all of them looking down at him expectantly. The entire school was there, as were the professors—they were gathered in one particular section, along with a few familiar faces sitting with Dumbledore: Barty Crouch, Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff—headmistress and headmaster from the foreign schools, and Ludo Bagman. He guessed they were the judges.

His heart lifted significantly, seeing a section containing his circle of friends, both from the Commonwealth and from the school. Even more impressive, was the fact they weren't alone. It looked like well over a hundred people, all of them from the Commonwealth. Even some of the Ragnar's crew were present, including her captain. Harry was touched by the gesture.

The dragon rested at the opposite end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs. Seeing her at night was scary enough. Now, she looked absolutely terrifying. She was black, with enormous, leathery wings, and yellow eyes that watched his every move.

What to do? This was a dragon he was facing! Dragon... _dov_... but that was a different world. Surely the species of dragons here had nothing in common with the ancient dragons from Tamriel? Still, there was no harm in trying. _'Four bells, damn the torpedoes,'_ he thought. Harry drew his wand and touched it to the side of his throat. “ _Sonorus_.”

“ _Drem, sahrot dovah_ ,(2)” said Harry, with hesitation, “ _Mu ni meyz voth tahrodis... krosis._ ” He had memorized many of the words he had read in the books Farengar had shared with him, but even then, tyring to form complete sentences was another thing altogether.

The dragon looked at him with fearsome yellow eyes. It hadn't worked.

“ _Quietus_ ,” he whispered. 

Now what to do. He could summon his broom... though that might not work, given it was in his rooms on board the Ragnar. He could resort to what he learned in Skyrim, but, killing the creature would probably not win him any favours—

“ _Dovahkiin_ ,” said the dragon.

One could hear a pin drop in that enclosure. Harry almost dropped his wand in shock. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect it to actually work! Now that he had her attention, how to explain what he needed?

“ _Brit dovah_ ,” he said, “ _We not dragonborn. We seek that among your children that does not belong._ ”

“ _That among my children_ ,” the dragon hissed, looking down at her clutch, while Harry dared approach. Perhaps that was a mistake.

“ _Yol—_ ”

“ _No! We seek it that they placed with your children. Only that._ ”

“ _Only that._ ”

“ _Yes. Peace not treachery._ ”

The dragon again looked at her clutch of eggs, then snatched the thing that did not belong, and threw it toward Harry. He caught it expertly.

“P _ogaan kogaan_ ,(3)” said Harry, bowing low. The Horntail seemed to reciprocate, and the stands seemed to explode into cheers and applause.

“It has been long since one has spoken in our tongue, young one.” Harry was stunned, as the dragon spoke clean English.

“I have been visiting a place where I have come to learn some of your language, my lady.”

“Pardon the intrusion,” came Dumbledore's voice, “but--”

“ _Yol... TOOR SHUL!!!_ ” 

A bloom of fire was sent in the judges' direction, and the crowd again fell deathly silent, as they were rather graphically reminded that a deadly animal was still in their midst. Mazhe, meanwhile, looked unsettled, hearing the three words the dragon had just spoke. They had spoken to something deep inside of him... something he had already experienced once before.

“This conversation is private, headmaster,” said Harry, quickly erecting a strong privacy ward. “ _Tahrodis mey_. It would give me great pleasure to see him reduced to cinders. That one has _krozah_ far too often in my affairs. However, there is still a use for him.” Harry sat on the ground, cross-legged.

Some time later, it was Ludo Bagman who dared interrupt the conversation.

“Mr. Potter, we would love to give you your scores, so we might release everyone back to the school.”

“If we could be left alone after that—barring my friends of course.” He got to his feet, and gave a wave to the section in question.

The scores were handed out. Madam Maxime raised her wand, and a '10' formed in the air. Next came Dumbledore. Another '10'. Ludo Bagman, a '10'. Barty Crouch, a '10'. And Karkaroff, a '5'. No surprise there, really. He would have to wait until later to find out how everyone else did, as for the moment, he was a little busy.

“Perhaps, if I may, I would love to come speak with you before you have to be returned to Romania.”

“It would be acceptable, young mage. Your words are complicated, perhaps you might be willing to learn of our language.”

“I would like that very much... though that might be difficult—complicated in its own right.”

With that, he gave a bow, removed his privacy charms, then strode out of the enclosure, to another round of thunderous applause. He had just stolen the show.

There, he was quickly surrounded by his friends, all of them in various degrees of awe at what had just happened.

“Harry, you... you spoke to a dragon!” Ron was floored.

“He's been learning that since he was eight,” said Mazhe, “But Gods... never would have imagined.”

“Neither did I. I thought it was worth a shot... The heroes of Sovngarde have smiled on me today, I think.”

“The divines perhaps watch over you with a ready sword, my friend.”

“The gods of Tamriel,” Hermione guessed.

“They are, yes. Harry has always had a great amount of luck in our world.”

“And a few good friends watching my flank,” said Harry, giving a mad grin. The tremendous pressure which had been mounting since his discovery of the dragons had melted away in one fell-swoop. Not to mention, he had the privilege of speaking with a creature on a level not accomplished in their world in thousands of years.

The healers' tent was a busy place, with Madam Pomfrey attending to Cedric, who had a nasty burn on the side of his face. She was covering it with some sort of orange paste. Viktor was seated on another bed, completely uninjured. The same could be said about Fleur, save for her outfit, which had been singed.

Further thought was interrupted by Ludo Bagman.

"Well done, all of you!" he said, pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. "Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February 24th - but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you're all holding, you will see that they open. . . see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg - because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!" He was gone.

“So you're coming up to Gryffindor tower for a bit, then,” Ron guessed.

“How can I not? I know you guys will go all night, me being a student or not,” Harry grinned.

As expected, the Gryffindor common room was a riot of activity, as he, Mazhe, Justin, Tommy, Brandon, and Eric pushed their way in. There was food and drink, the twins were in their element handing out treats of their own, and everything was as loud and boisterous as a celebration after a Quidditch match. The egg was resting on a table half-cluttered with empty butterbeer bottles so everyone could get a good look at it.

“Care for a jam tart?” questioned Fred. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were seated in front of the fire. Harry smirked, looking at the plate Fred was holding.

“I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you have to look out for—”

Tommy, who had just into one of the aforementioned treats, spit it out at once, and gave Fred a glare. He had already experienced some of their pranks.

“Guys... really.”

“Oh come on Harry, we're making a killing with this sort of thing.”

“If you live to see your next birthday,” Tommy muttered dangerously. He thought a moment. “Where'd all the food come from?”

“The kitchens, of course.” George had joined his twin. “House elves, right helpful.”

The discussion degenerated rapidly, as Hermione was terribly upset with the idea of house elves doing all the cooking and cleaning in the castle. Harry finally got up, not wanting to be in between Ron and Hermione as they argued.

“How about—” He didn't finish, since Tommy suddenly turned into an enormous yellow canary. Colin, who had been snapping pictures of the party, was quite happy to photograph the incident. Mazhe was doubled over with laughter, as was Brandon for that matter, while Justin simply smirked. It was a pretty good prank all in all.

“Canary creams! George and I invented them! Seven Sickles each, a bargain!”

Within a minute, Tommy had molted and his feathers vanished, restoring him to his former self. He simply looked himself over and shook his head.

“Christ.”

“He's not seen nothin' yet,” said Seamus, grinning madly.

“Right. Since I have a second event I'm attending back on board the Ragnar, how about we find out what's inside the egg?” said Harry. There were cheers of agreement.

“What, not staying, Harry?” said Fred, looking disappointed.

“Sacrilege is what it is, brother of mine!” George piped up.

“Sorry guys, but after all this... pressure... I really just wanna get back to the Ragnar. So...”

Just as Bagman had said, there was indeed a small knob on top of the egg. Harry held the egg with both hands, and turned the small knob. It snapped open, to reveal... nothing. Well, nothing except for an ungodly screeching sound that much reminded him of fingernails being dragged down a blackboard. The entire room winced, and even the portraits reacted poorly. He slammed it shut, ending the noise.

“Gods, that would wake the dead,” said Mazhe.

“We could try,” Harry smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry receives an invitation to an event which conflicts with the Yule Ball; and incidents in both Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions have long-term consequences._   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: (1) Megsjedi and a few others correctly guessed, this was taken from the 1995 movie “Crimson Tide”._   
> _(2) Drem, sahrot dovah. Mu ni meyz voth tahrodis... krosis. – Peace, mighty dragon. We not with treachery... sorrow/sorry. The second sentence, Harry 'shoots from the hip', and so isn't properly formed. He trusts the dragon will understand what he's trying to say._   
> _(3) pogaan kogaan – many thanks_


	12. Alchemy and Potions do not Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry receives an invitation to an event which conflicts with the Yule Ball; and incidents in both Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions have long-term consequences.

# 12\. ALCHEMY AND POTIONS DO NOT MIX

**November 23 – 22 December, 2004**

* * *

_1 December, 2004 / 1 Evening Star, 4E199_

The last of the month had actually flown by without much incident. Most of the school had backed off on the name-calling and the frigid stares, considering Harry had done something truly spectacular when he faced his dragon. The Wizarding press was still having a field day concerning the event, and the Commonwealth was having to run a lot of interference to keep the press away from him.

At present, he was having breakfast in his suite aboard the Ragnar—Wednesdays opened with a free period, and Harry generally didn't head down to the school until nearly the end of said period. The meal was interrupted as a regal-looking owl flew through the window and landed gracefully on the table at the vacant spot beside him.

“Oh, hello there. Something for me?” Harry asked.

The owl extended its leg, around which was secured a letter. Harry collected the letter, and fed it a piece of toast, and the bird took off again, obviously not requiring a reply.

“Damn. Something really important, to be sent that way,” Justin noted.

“Yeah, I know,” said Harry, as he looked at the letter.

“Shit, looks like the letter I got a month ago. Same writing,” Tommy remembered.

“The Queen,” said Harry, recognizing the seal. He opened the envelope, and pulled out the letter inside.

 

_Harry J. Potter_

_Care of HMS Ragnar_

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to at this time offer Our official invitation for you to join Us at Our annual Christmas banquet, to be held at Our residence in Trevelyan, beginning at four in the afternoon, local time. A reception will follow. This invitation is also open to the other members of your party. Formal attire is a requirement._

_Given you are currently residing aboard one of Our ships, simply provide an answer to Captain O'Toole, and further arrangements shall be made from there. We look forward to your company._

  _Pleasant wishes,_  
(An elegant signature was penned here)  
 _H. R. M. Queen Susan II_

 

“Well?” Mazhe pressed.

“We've been invited to the Queen's Christmas banquet. All of us.”

“Damn. That's... really nice, Harry,” said Justin, impressed, “It's a big to-do, all the big-wigs, department heads, upper echelon of government... really important people.”

“Formal dress, so I kind of figured that.”

“I'll need to dig out my tux then,” said Justin, mostly to himself. “I think it's at my parents' place, have to make the trip there.”

“What about you guys?”

“I would love to attend,” said Mazhe, “Although I will need whatever you mean by a 'tux', Justin.”

“A tuxedo. Very expensive type of suit usually worn on extremely high-end social affairs—such as the one we're going to be attending,” Justin answered, “I'm not important enough to need one on hand.”

“Guess that leaves me. Sure, I'll come along. I'll need something to wear as well then,” said Tommy.

“We'll arrange a trip into Erwin on the weekend, maybe,” said Brandon.

“Will you guys be coming along?” Harry asked.

“It won't be necessary, given the Queen will already have a lot of security in place around the palace. No, we'll likely enjoy a night off.”

“As if you guys do a whole lot,” Justin joked. That earned him a rude gesture for his effort.

* * *

At the end of Transfiguration class the following morning, Harry was somewhat shocked at the announcement Professor McGonagall made, as was Justin.

“Just before you go, I have an important announcement to make. The Yule Ball is approaching—a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above - although you may invite a younger student if you wish—“

Naturally, a good number of the girls in attendance had various reactions, some being rather subtle, while others not so much.

“Dress robes will be worn, and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day in the Great Hall, and will end at midnight.”

McGonagall continued to describe the points of conduct and the like, but Harry mentally groaned. He'd already agreed to attend the Queen's Christmas banquet in Trevelyan. The times directly conflicted with one another.

The bell finally rang, and everyone scrambled to leave.

“Potter, remain behind,” McGonagall called out. Harry waited as instructed, joining the professor at her desk. Brandon remained by the door to the classroom, while Justin stuck close to Harry.

The professor waited until the other students were gone, then said, “Potter, the champions and their partners—“

“Professor, I'm sorry, but I have already committed to attending another event back in Trevelyan. It's in direct conflict with the Yule Ball.”

“Well you must then break that commitment. The champions are expected to participate,” said McGonagall.

“It's not quite that simple, Professor,” answered Justin, “Harry, do you still have her majesty's letter?”

“Of course.” Harry dug into his satchel, and pulled out the letter.

“The Queen invited him to her annual Christmas banquet, and he's already sent back indicating he would be attending. His name is already on the guest list, which is likely already in the hands of the media. If he was to change his mind, it would have to be for a good reason, and I'm sorry, professor, attending another social function wouldn't be acceptable.”

“It would damage his credibility within the Commonwealth,” Brandon added.

“It is most unfortunate. I did warn the headmaster he should be giving far better notice about events, particularly those revolving around the tournament. You may go, Potter.”

“Thank you, professor.”

As he sat down for lunch, Ron and Hermione instantly pressed him about what the professor wanted.

“I don't know what she was going to ask me, because I told her I wasn't attending.”

“You're what?! Harry, you HAVE to go!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I've already made a prior commitment, Hermione,” answered Harry, pulling out the royal invitation. “It's not something I can break, at least not without a good reason.”

“But the tournament—“ Ron began.

“No, Ron, he's right. Invited to a function given by the Queen—you can't change your mind about it... not without committing social suicide,” said Hermione, as she quickly skimmed the letter.

“Yeah and as Justin said, deciding not to go just because there is another social function just doesn't cut it. I hope you guys have an excellent time... and Ron. You probably don't want to wait too long, if you get my drift.”

“Err... right.”

“She seems to be taking more of an interest in you,” said Hermione, passing the letter back.

“No more attention than any other person of importance in the Commonwealth, miss Granger,” said Brandon. He had taken up his usual position against the wall directly behind where they were sitting.

“Jesus Christ, what's got into people today?” Tommy muttered, parking himself across from Harry.

“Why?”

“Oh, the fact he's been asked to some sort of ball by at least six ladies and—two guys, believe it or not, in seventh year since stepping into the entrance hall,” said the S.O.U. member escorting him. “Justin, ready to get back?”

“Bogey, nine o'clock,” Tommy whispered, flicking his eyes toward the head table. Harry inwardly groaned, seeing the headmaster approaching. Of course the old fart wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

“Harry, if I might have a word.”

“No, I'm not attending the Yule Ball, professor. I already have a prior commitment.”

“I'm sure they will understand if you explain you have a commitment here first,” Dumbledore answered.

“You want me to write a letter to Queen Susan, explaining I can't attend her Christmas banquet because a lesser-sanctioned event has to come first.” 

Harry held up the letter from the Queen so Dumbledore could see it. Of course, the noise level in the Great Hall had dropped considerably, as Harry once again faced off against the headmaster. After all, news travelled rather quickly in the school, and it was well-known the pair were at odds.

“Attendance to the Yule Ball is compulsory.”

“And declining an invitation to an event put on by her majesty after having previously accepted it is bad form. Professor, you know her event holds precedent. He's a citizen of the Commonwealth, doing so would cause damage to his social standing... likely spilling out here as well,” said Justin.

“That explains why a few older... students were acting weird when we came in. How 'compulsory' are we talkin'?” Tommy asked. “Is it part of the magical contract you keep going on about?”

“It's tradition, Mr. Riordan.”

“I didn't ask if it was tradition, headmaster. Does missing this dance or whatever violate the contract between him and the goblet?”

“No.”

“Then we're done here,” said Harry. “I'm sure it would've been an excellent time, but really. I have a prior commitment. Not to mention, I have no clue how to dance.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry sadly, then retreated, heading back to the head table.

“Thought someone put a de-aging potion in my coffee before I left or somethin'.”

Harry smirked at the implications. “Mate, I'm sure you would've been adorable that way.”

“I like the way I am, thanks. And some of the... um...” he furrowed his brow, “...students here need to keep their hands to themselves. I'm already wanted in the States, I'd rather not get on the wrong side of things here.”

“They were all seventh years, Tommy. Half your age, but legal age in wizarding Britain.”

“That's real reassuring.” Tommy pulled his cap off and ran a hand through his hair. “What's legal age here then?”

“Seventeen. It's the same across the Wizarding world,” Justin answered.

“Wanted to pop one kid. Jesus.” He looked at Hermione, who was covering her mouth, trying not to laugh. “It's not funny!”

“Sure it is,” Harry grinned, “You've got a nice frame, not bad looking, of course you're gonna get asked... though I don't think you would qualify for a proper date, given the, uh... I'll shut up now.” That only caused Hermione to giggle more, and Tommy's face to flush.

“All right, all right, guys. Justin... we'd best get back.”

“Have a good afternoon, guys.”

* * *

_9 December / 9 Evening Star_

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a special case as far as Harry's chaperones were concerned. It was the only class where both S.O.U. members were present, both inside the classroom. Equally, the class was attended in rotation by Harry's circle. This particular class, it was Mazhe sitting with Harry, near the back of the room. It had become a habit for Harry to sit at the back of the room, so as not to draw too much attention to himself.

Given everything that was going on, Harry found it difficult to remain focused on the lesson—even with Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody as the teacher. He'd still not solved the clue to his egg. It didn't matter where he opened it, or what time of the day he opened it, whether it was hot, or cold, it still did the same thing. The sound had been forever etched in his mind, and likely everyone else's for that matter.

A flash of magic drew him abruptly out of his little daydream. Mazhe had produced a strong shield ward, now standing protectively in front of Harry, and Professor Moody now lay prone on the floor.

“What... why?” Harry asked, shocked at what just happened.

“We might have an impostor,” said Brandon, gravely, “All of you stay in your seats.” 

He pulled out his mobile, and punched in a number. 

“Miss Connor? Lieutenant Commander McAllister. We've got a situation. No... Yes... probably. Very well, I'll keep you posted.” He put the phone away.

“But sir, you attacked a teacher!” Hermione protested.

“Look at that now,” said Eric, gesturing to the unconscious professor. 

He was beginning to change form, exactly as Brandon had suspected. The magical eye fell off, the wooden stump was pushed aside as a real appendage replaced it, and within seconds, Alastor Moody was replaced by a stranger, someone no one in the classroom had ever seen before.

“How did you know?” Harry asked.

“Notice how he was always drinking from his flask? After a month of being here, I realized there was a pattern. Every hour, consistently. Here, and in the Great Hall. Anywhere we've seen him, it was a constant. First thing that came to mind is Polyjuice potion.”

“That's really difficult to make, Mr. McAllister,” said Hermione.

“But someone skilled enough in potions could do it,” said Eric, as he pulled out his phone. He used the devices' built-in camera to take pictures of the man, while Brandon conjured some heavy cords and bound the imposter.

It was several minutes before anyone showed up. In this case, it was both Commonwealth attorneys, the headmaster, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall, as well as an additional S.O.U. member—likely to escort the attorneys up to the school.

“Oh dear,” said McGonagall, seeing the stranger on the floor, tightly bound.

“Barty Crouch,” Snape said, recognizing the man at once.

“You know him, sir?” Harry dared ask. That only earned him a scathing glare for his effort.

“Professor Snape, good of you to join us,” said Brandon, “We were just about to ask this good man a few questions. Might you happen to have a vial of truth serum? We don't normally carry such things in our kit.”

“I do.” Snape reached into his robes, and withdrew a small vial, along with a second. “Veritaserum. And its antidote. I do believe you are aware of how to administer it?”

“We are, Professor,” answered Eric, while Brandon knelt beside the prisoner. He gently pried the man's mouth open, and allowed three drops of the clear potion to fall on his tongue.

“Ready?”

“We're ready, Mr. McAllister.”

Brandon passed the vial of Veritaserum back to Snape, then drew his wand, directing it at the prisoner. “ _Rennervate_.”

Crouch's eyes slowly opened, but they were unfocused, as the powerful potion had already taken effect.

“What is your name?” Brandon asked.

“Bartimus Crouch Junior.”

“Where is Alastor Moody?” came Dumbledore's question.

“In his trunk, hidden compartment.”

“I'll see to it,” said McGonagall, quickly climbing the stairs to the Professor's private rooms.

“I daresay, this lesson is finished. You may all go,” said Dumbledore, gesturing to the students, still rooted to their seats. It actually took several moments before anyone moved, and then it was a mad dash for the door. The gossip would flow fast and furious, but it wouldn't have mattered no matter what.

“You, too, Harry.”

“No.”

“Harry, this is most inappropriate—“

“Mr. Potter has full right to know what exactly is going on here, headmaster,” answered miss Connor.

The next half hour was spent as Barty Crouch, Jr. was questioned while under Veritaserum. It painted a scary picture of exactly what was going on, and more importantly, what the Dark Lord had planned for the Triwizard tournament, and Harry himself.

“A very interesting scenario we have here, headmaster. We'll be taking Mr. Crouch into custody, and we'll equally be interested in speaking with Mr. Crouch Senior, since he seems to be tangled up in this web of deceit as well,” said Mr. Sampson.

“And you will be detaining him as well?” Dumbledore did not look pleased.

“Considering he's a member of your own government, that doesn't lend a lot of faith in your government's, uh, effectiveness concerning the policing of itself,” Mr. Sampson answered.

“Gods, have to wonder how many more skeletons like this one the Ministry's got,” said Harry, shaking his head. “You wonder why I'm not really all that interested in coming back here?” He gestured at Crouch. “A glaring example. Can't wait until Alice and Will here about this... or Sirius and Remus for that matter.”

Harry smiled at Crouch.

“You think I'm weak? You think I'm vulnerable, and I'm a baby, needing 'body guards' to see after me? I'll leave you with this.” 

His hand shot out quick as lightning, and a purple blast of magic struck the bound man. He instantly whimpered as his groin became instantly damp.

“Harry, I must object—“

“I OBJECT TO THIS LOAD OF HORSE DROPPINGS, HEADMASTER!” Harry roared right back. That earned a smirk from Mazhe.

“How could you not know, sir? How could you not know that your supposedly best friend for years was in fact a Polyjuiced Death Eater?”

“Harry, you have to understand, I am an old man, open to many faults.”

“I don't buy it,” Harry snapped back, “You should have known. If these guys spotted it after what... four weeks? You've had since the beginning of the school year.”

Harry turned to Snape.

“Professor, have you been missing potions ingredients from your stores?”

“I have.”

“They would include the ingredients needed to make Polyjuice, am I right?”

“Indeed,” Snape sneered.

“I don't think we can blame Professor Snape, Mr. Potter,” said miss Connor, “Given the nature of a school.”

“I agree. I wasn't accusing him.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath then blew it out.

“I think I'll take dinner back on board the Ragnar, maybe take a day for myself, and think a few things over. Gods, can't get through two weeks without something going all tits up over a berrel.”

That earned a frown and a sad look from the headmaster.

“We'll finish things up here,” said Mr. Sampson, “Mr. McAllister, Mr. Gomrass, why don't you take Mr. Potter and his friend back to the Ragnar?”

“We'll see it done,” said Brandon. That got another sad look from Dumbledore.

He watched them leave the classroom. Here again, the Commonwealth was inserting itself into business they didn't belong in. Even if the Ministry wasn't exactly competent at dealing with certain matters, it was still inappropriate, whether Harry was seen as a citizen of the Commonwealth or not. Yet again, Harry was being taken away from Hogwarts, that action having the reverse effect Dumbledore had wanted with regard to the tournament. He mentally sighed. There was still loads of time before the end of the tournament, including two more tasks.

Harry, Brandon, Mazhe, and Eric landed in their suite aboard the Ragnar, the Port key now spent.

“Bloody hell... regretting my choice four years ago even more today,” Harry muttered.

“Harry, what are you back so soon for? ...something happen?” Justin asked, coming out of the conference room.

“Imposter teaching Dark Arts Defence,” Harry answered, bluntly.

“Seriously?” Tommy had just come out of the washroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, hearing unexpected voices given the time.

“I swear to the Gods, I'm gonna strangle Dumbledore with his own beard,” Harry muttered, parking himself on one of the comfortable couches.

“Not that you'd get very far. He's a powerful wizard, you know that right?” Brandon pointed out.

“Doesn't mean I can't daydream.”

“And being pissed off about it won't help either.” Tommy disappeared down the hall to his room.

“He's right.”

“I know he is!” Harry scowled, “Shor's balls...”

“Let's spend the day at the College tomorrow,” Mazhe suggested, “Spend some time with your friends there. I bet Savos wouldn't mind reviewing some alchemy with you.”

“The weekend, that sounds nice.”

“No, first we're gonna do a few exercises,” said Tommy, reappearing from his room. He now wore a tee-shirt that barely fit his muscular frame, and a pair of loose track pants. “C'mon, on the floor.”

Harry groaned. Patience wasn't something he had a lot of. However, Harry got off the couch, and parked himself on the floor, while Tommy sat cross-legged a few feet away. The exercises were a good thing, he did acknowledge that much.

“Eyes here, forget what they're doing,” Tommy said. 

Justin and Brandon were heading into the conference room, while Eric took up position by the door which left the suite. Mazhe, meanwhile, sat down beside Harry, deciding to participate in the exercise as well.

“Palms up... good. Now just let all your shit go. No thinking.”

“Hard.”

“Just let it go.”

The exercise was usually done in the morning, one of the last things they did before leaving the Ragnar in the morning. It was only a short exercise, but it was a good wind-down after the early morning jog half-way around the lake and back. Now, as he listened to Tommy's voice, he found the tension leaving him, the exercise having the desired effect.

Even though he was non-magical, Tommy had quite easily fit into the group. He was abrasive at times, but Harry easily overlooked that, given what he had to offer. The guy was built like a tank, and fought ferociously. With the training he had, he was every bit the warrior they remembered encountering back at the end of October.

Wednesday mornings first thing, Harry was then working with Tommy, learning about unarmed combat. How to block, how to fall without hurting himself, how to punch effectively, how to kick. For now it was covering the basics, but all of it was valuable to Harry.

Something equally valuable was coming out of the arrangement as well: friendship. It had been just over a month since he'd joined the group, but already it seemed like he'd always been there. Healer Ferris worked with him most weekday mornings on a professional level to properly deal with the emotions involved. He was at this point only needing to see her twice a week (Mondays and Thursdays).

His brother's children were then being well-looked after courtesy of Sirius and Remus. Sirius had tied up all his affairs in England, and now lived with Remus in Trevelyan. Being long-time friends, this made the household work, and with the help of Dobby, the children wanted for nothing. Of course, having uncle Tommy visiting every few days didn't hurt matters either.

* * *

_21 December, 2004 / 21 Evening Star, 4E199_

It had to happen eventually. It was almost the end of Potions, and, of all things, the particular potion they had been told to brew was an age-reversal potion. It was somewhat complicated, but could be completed within the period. It was the only class Tommy sat in on, given it was really the only course he could do anything with.

Snape learned quickly the man was more than capable, and turned in fairly decent work—even if he did have to rely on Potter, Weasley, or Granger during a few stages. Being non-magical, there were very few potions he would be able to complete entirely on his own. In most cases, at one stage or another, the use of magic was required in the creation of a potion.

Back to the point of our story, it so happened, Harry had a few ingredients he had harvested in Skyrim resting on his workbench. That is the pivotal point here, as, while people were adequately distracted, Pansy Parkinson casually plucked a blue flower petal up off the workbench, and tossed it in Tommy's potion.

Potions and Alchemy do not mix. This is quite clear. The instant the blue mountain flower petal touched the opaque purple mixture, it was as if a flash had gone off. While Harry was splashed with it slightly, Tommy wore the majority of it. He tried to spit the nasty concoction out, but it was too late. He could already feel an odd shift taking place, and whatever it was, it probably didn't bode well.

“You stupid, venomous snake,” Brandon snarled, wand levelled at the offender, “You, my dear, are under arrest.”

“Says who?” Parkinson smirked, turning around, “I'm still a minor.”

“Mr. Potter, you all right?”

“I... think so. I, uh... we better go see Madam Pomfrey.”

“The six of you... get... out...” Snape sneered, “You'll receive a zero for your effort.”

“Thanks a _lot_ , Professor.” 

Harry chanced a look at Tommy. He was looking very out of sorts. Whatever Parkinson had thrown in the potion most likely changed the effects. He wobbled unsteadily, before falling backward, and it was only Harry's quick reflexes that prevented him from bouncing his head off of the worktable beside them.

“Harry, can you levitate him, I'll deal with miss Parkinson,” said Brandon.

“Yeah, I can do that. Tommy? You still with us?”

“I... it feels wrong.” His voice was changing, as was his appearance. The potion was doing exactly as it was supposed to, although rather slowly.

“Stay with us, mate,” said Ron, as the group of them began to leave the classroom, Brandon having Parkinson at wand-point.

“Sorry I wasn't watching more closely,” Brandon apologized.

“Not your fault,” Harry scowled, “Let's just get to the hospital wing. Better let the ship know what's going on so they're there to meet us.”

While still keeping his wand trained on the perpetrator, Brandon unclipped his phone from his belt, and pressed several keys.

“Miss Connor? Yeah... we got a problem... sabotaged potion... no, he's fine, it was Mr. Riordan... age-reversal potion. Headed there now... okay, will do.” He hung up.

“You can't do anything to me,” said Parkinson, arrogantly, “Like I said, I'm still a minor.”

“We'll see what the Commonwealth attorneys have to say when we meet them, now, won't we?” Brandon answered, viciously, “I don't know what you people's problem is, but really. You could've killed someone. Killed everyone in the room, including Professor Snape. Did that thought ever cross that small mind of yours before you chose to act?”

Harry had to smirk even considering the circumstances. Brandon was channelling Snape quite well just then. He mentally sighed—and the world went sideways.

He awoke some time later, to once again be staring at the white-washed ceiling of the hospital wing, his circle gathered on either side of his bed, along with Ron and Hermione.

“You keep finding yourself here, Mr. Potter, and I'm going to start keeping a bed especially reserved for you,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“How bad is it this time?”

“A little bit of rest, and you'll be right as rain.”

“And Tommy?”

“That still remains to be seen.”

“What was the blue flower, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Blue mountain flower. They're everywhere in Skyrim.”

“What are they normally used for?”

“They can restore someone's health, fortify someone's conjuration skills, fortify their health, or stop their magic from regenerating. It normally depends on what it's mixed with,” Mazhe answered. He was standing at the foot of the bed, now looking relieved his best friend was awake and well.

“Stop someone's magic from regenerating? Oh dear,” said Madam Pomfrey, clearly unnerved. She began doing another set of magical scans on Harry.

“The girl tossed it into your potion?”

“No, Tommy's.”

“It would've likely only activated the first effect.”

“But you don't know,” said Hermione.

“No. Not for certain, miss Granger. Your method of mixing potions is far more colourful than it is in Skyrim.”

“Will I die from this?” Tommy was laying in a separate bed, hands folded across his chest.

“No. None of the effects of the plant were fatal. Some mushrooms, a daedra's heart, and... a few other things I know of, they would be.”

Madam Pomfrey looked very concerned.

“Tommy... how are you?” Harry asked.

“Feel all right, I guess, but... different.”

“You look like you've lost ten years, mate,” Ron commented.

“For real?”

“I have to agree,” said Brandon, “Don't worry about it though. The effects will wear off. Eight to twelve hours, if I remember what Professor Snape said.”

“Still... what she did wasn't cool.”

“No, it wasn't, Mr. Riordan,” said miss Connor, at last wading into the conversation. “However, the simple issue is we don't carry jurisdiction here. Not unless the crime is more serious. It could be conveyed as a prank gone badly wrong.”

“A prank. You call this a prank?” Tommy said, angrily, “I hate to see what you'd call attempted murder.”

“I assure you, Mr. Riordan, Miss Parkinson has been docked house points and assigned two weeks of detentions, and her parents will be notified of her actions,” Dumbledore placated.

“It should be said that, if we perceive an individual to be a true threat to Harry's safety, we will take action, and it will not be pleasant,” said Brandon, “That means we will aim to immobilize the threat. I hope that spells things out for you. Students or not, if they act with dangerous, malicious intent, they better be prepared to pay the adult consequences.”

“I have to object—”

“Object all you want. Harry and his friends are our charge and our responsibility, since you made it quite clear last month you had no interest in making it yours.”

“Lie in the bed you made,” Tommy snarked, viciously.

“Of course you could just send us home,” said Harry, lightly, “Maybe let you sleep a little easier at night, knowing trained killers aren't roaming the halls. Oh, wait a minute... that was already happening, LONG before the Commonwealth showed up.”

“Harry that is not fair,” Dumbledore objected.

“Sure it is. The Slytherins get away with murder, or nearly, on a regular basis. If it wasn't for the other teachers compensating, they would be running away with the point totals.”

“He's right, Professor,” Ron threw in, “Snape is terribly biased—I mean, it was over a month ago now but... Goyle cursed Hermione making her teeth grow enormous, and he said—”

“'I don't see any difference'... and he assigned Ron a detention and docked us fifty points,” Hermione finished.

“An awful way to run a school, headmaster,” said miss Connor, shaking her head.

“'yo Harry?” Tommy asked.

“Huh?”

“You guys got that unbreakable vow thing, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Make an unbreakable vow that you won't ever come back here.”

Tommy smirked, seeing the colour drain out of the headmaster's face. Harry, meanwhile, smirked just as madly. It was wonderful to have an outside pair of eyes now and then.

“Harry, surely you must understand—“

“Understand WHAT, Professor? I've not ever been truly happy here. Not with all your posturing and manipulations and other horse shit you keep managing to drag up every year I've been here. It's one catastrophe after another! And may the gods help you if it's ever proven you had something to do with my entry into this blasted tournament!”

That had the attorneys thinking. Oh, sure, Barty Crouch, Jr. ran the show, but what if? The headmaster did have his fingers in many pies. Perhaps a little bit more investigating was in order.

Deeply troubled by the suggestion Tommy had given, the aged wizard gently pushed into the Muggle's mind. The man was clearly a danger to everything Dumbledore was planning at this point. He was raw, abrasive, and didn't hesitate to make his opinion known, whether it was wanted or not. Worse, Harry had invited the man into his circle of friends freely, without hesitation. That just wouldn't do. 

'Wanted by the Muggle authorities in America, is he?' Dumbledore thought. Perhaps a gentle push in the right direction might put some pressure on the Commonwealth. Or, perhaps there might be a different way of handling matters. A floo call to the American Department of Magic was in order, then... perhaps... after all, there was always more than one way to skin a kneazle.

* * *

By late the following morning, it was clear something was not right. Harry had not been affected much by the potion, and so had been declared fit and well late the previous evening. Tommy, on the other hand, showed no progress toward being restored to his twenty-eight-year-old self. He still looked about eighteen. 

Given that realization, the medi-witch became suddenly very interested in conducting much more thorough tests to determine the exact extent of the changes. As much as Tommy hated the idea, a few of the others had to agree, it was unusual. A de-aging potion normally wasn't permanent.

“Harry, we've got Charms in about fifteen minutes,” Brandon reminded him. Naturally, the entire group save for Ron and Hermione stayed in the hospital wing concerned about their new friend. Madam Pomfrey had tried, unsuccessfully, to shoo everyone out, but Harry (and by extension, the S.O.U.) would have none of it. Brandon even threatened to call in backup, and the medi-witch knew she had met her match when it came to stubborn.

“We're not going.”

“Don't toss your classes just 'cause of me,” said Tommy.

“And leave you here to fend for yourself? Not a chance, mate. We're on enemy territory. I can borrow Hermione's notes later—though Brandon, d'you mind letting Professor Flitwick know?”

“Sure thing.” Brandon left the hospital wing.

“Well,” Mazhe commented, smirking, “At least he didn't lose any of his, uh, physique.” Tommy made a rude gesture.

“He's right. You... I mean, your face looks a little leaner, but... you're still you... and you've got ten years of your life back,” said Eric, “If there's a silver lining in this mess, that's it.”

“I guess.” He pushed the covers back and sat up, cross-legged. “Harry, come over and sit.”

“What—right.” Harry left his seat, and sat on the end of the bed.

“No, sit right, like I showed you.”

Harry huffed, but sat cross-legged, facing his friend. It was a little strange, seeing a younger version of the person he knew, but in the end, it was still Tommy.

“Mazhe and Justin... you guys mind going back to Skyrim, letting our afternoon trainers know we won't be there?”

“We'll see to it.” Now it was Justin and Mazhe's turn to leave the hospital wing.

Dumbledore was in a quandary as he observed the group while under a disillusionment spell. They travelled in a pack. Never let one get separated from the other. If he admitted it honestly, Harry was surrounded by a tremendous group of people. A Muggle, a wizard, and a mage from another world. Never mind the pair of soldiers, one of which was still standing vigil nearby.

However, he would never admit that. In Dumbledore's eyes, the boy in their midst belonged there at Hogwarts, being carefully guided into the role he was required to play sometime down the road. Harry needed to be meek and malleable, quite ready to do whatever was asked of him. He did have a few friends at Hogwarts, and perhaps he might be able to take advantage of them. Perhaps in the fall, given there was too much on the go at present.

The American Department of Magic was not exactly interested in the report about a Muggle fugitive in England, and so that idea hadn't turned out quite as planned. Worse, the group would not leave Mr. Riordan behind, and any hostile move toward him would most likely result in a rather painful confrontation, and Harry would be in the middle of it. Perhaps, then, the man might incur some sort of accident. The incident in Potions yesterday was a perfect example (though again, if he were honest with himself, it was an incident of sabotage).

The second task was coming up. Initially, the headmaster had planned on using the ginger-haired mage as the hostage. There had been many ideas thought of and then discarded, considering most of them would have ended quite badly. He could certainly use Weasley, and perhaps it would be an easier, more pliable hostage, but those within Harry's close circle would be far more important.

Instead, then, he would use Mr. Riordan. He would need to talk to Severus about a few potions, and given he would be casting the stasis charms on the hostages, who's to say he couldn't add a few other spells as well? In the end, it was for the _greater good_ , was it not? He silently popped away back to his office.

That evening, Madam Pomfrey finally released Tommy, and the group immediately returned to the Ragnar by Port key. There, they were met by a group of healers, who ran their own series of tests. Tommy wasn't happy about it, but the tests confirmed pretty much what they already knew: the guy had been permanently de-aged by ten years. Miss Ferris was also present, and that resulted in a series of questions meant to gauge his mental age. 

Tommy was finally given a clean bill of health, and Harry made no delay in taking everyone back to the College of Winterhold. He was truly fed up with the nonsense that revolved around Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: A New Year's Eve party has Harry dealing with feelings and emotions he's not ready for; an incident within the Commonwealth has everyone scrambling; and the second task of the tournament leaves both Harry and Tommy enraged at the headmaster..._


	13. The Second Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A New Year's Eve party has Harry dealing with feelings and emotions he's not ready for; an incident within the Commonwealth has everyone scrambling; and the second task of the tournament leaves both Harry and Tommy enraged at the headmaster...

**13\. THE SECOND TASK**

**December 25, 2004 – February 21, 2005**

* * *

_December 25, 2004 / 25 Evening Star, 4E199_

Considering the stuffy clothes they were required to wear, the dinner turned out to be the complete opposite of what Harry expected. The dinner turned out to be only the start of the festivities, as everyone was shuttled into the main ball room, and things became a lot less formal.

“Mr. Potter. We meet again.”

“Your majesty,” Harry said, with a bow of his head.

“It is wonderful you were able to join us. Though it is my understanding that perhaps my invitation went out at just the right time,” said the Queen.

“I have to agree with that. I shouldn't speak poorly of someone, but really, the old man doesn't seem to know when to stop. He's obsessed with me.”

“We are doing all we can to neutralize him. You may have been born an English citizen, but by every right you are one of my subjects, and therefore afforded all of my protection.”

“How far will you go?”

“Oh. Your majesty, this is Tom Riordan.”

“Yes, I know who he is,” the Queen answered with a wry smile, “I do make it my business to know who is attending my social gatherings. I trust you are finding comfort with the life you now have?”

“Yes ma'am. Other than... the, uh, nonsense that happened earlier this week.”

“Though you have to agree, it does have a silver lining, does it not?”

“As Harry and his other friends have told me, yeah. I'm not... ungrateful, it's just... it shouldn't have happened.”

“Thing is, it means I have someone my own age to talk to now,” said Mazhe, wading into the conversation. Unlike the others, he went with his mages' robes. He did stand out somewhat, but given Guardian Elaine was there along with a few others, he wasn't the only one in robes.

“Right.”

“Your majesty, you remember Mazhe?”

“I do. You joined us at the Quidditch World Cup,” the Queen remembered. “As I was saying, the Commonwealth is still looking into matters regarding your security, Harry. And I should tell you, you should receive an extra Christmas gift on the first of January, if my sources are correct—which they usually are. Given your age, and certain events which have taken place this year, it is only appropriate.”

“What sort of thing?”

“You need to wait until the first of the month, then everything will be clear. Equally, the Commonwealth is about to flex its muscles with regard to your treatment. We grow tired of England's continued abuse of one of our subjects.”

“That's good. Anything to make the old man squirm a little.”

“Oh, I believe he might do a little more than squirm, along with that pompous windbag they have for Minister of Magic.”

“But won't doing so put the Commonwealth at risk, your grace?” Justin asked. He had been mingling with others, but seeing who Harry was talking to, he quickly joined the conversation.

“Perhaps maybe. But you do know that we will not hesitate to use force, should it really be necessary,” the Queen answered, resolve in her voice. “England must understand, we will go to great lengths to protect Harry. I do understand his training and education are progressing with haste.”

“It is, ma'am,” Harry answered.

“That's all you need to worry about. And should things become too difficult at Hogwarts, you most certainly have the right to continue your study independently, and only attend the tasks of the tournament. My Privy Council has read the rules of the tournament front to back, and there is nothing saying you must remain in the castle at all, given you are not a student.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

It was late in the evening before they all returned to the Ragnar. Harry had to admit, he'd had a great time, and by the looks of his friends, they had as well. It was very clear Queen Susan loved to socialize, and from what he gathered from other people at the party, it was something she did quite frequently. Most likely, he would be invited again, and in all honesty, Harry had no issue with that. Sure, people were interested in meeting with him, and talking to him, but he never felt pressured or uncomfortable. They respected who he was, and that was all there was to it—unlike at Hogwarts.

* * *

_December 31, 2004 / 31 Evening Star, 4E199_

Harry had missed the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, and in some ways he did feel bad about missing out on a wonderful opportunity to mingle and meet with the other champions, and students from the other school. Commander Dawson came up with the perfect solution: a New Year's Eve party on board the ship, open to the students of all the schools. The Virtual Projection Room would be converted into an appropriate space—a small tropical island, to contrast the rather cold weather outside.

Dumbledore had most certainly protested the idea, but his deputy readily agreed, with the stipulation that some of the professors attended as well to act as chaperones. With that agreed to, the announcement was made at breakfast on December 27. People were advised to dress comfortably as this was not a formal event, and to also bring swim wear, as the theme was a tropical beach.

When people began arriving by port key just before 8 o'clock, Harry was somewhat surprised. He'd expected a few people maybe, but by the time things got under way, it looked like the majority of people staying over the holidays had chosen to come. It also looked like the majority of both visiting schools were present, as was their headmaster and headmistress, respectively. Harry still didn't know what to think of Igor Karkaroff, the man seemed off for some reason. Dumbledore had demanded to attend, but there was no way in _hell_ that was ever going to happen, and Professor McGonagall attended in his place, along with Professor Snape and Hagrid—Hagrid insisted on attending, when he found out Madame Maxime was going to be attending. Unlike the students, the professors retained their usual attire, considering they were there as chaperones. Harry also noticed a good number of the ship's crew were present—being on board long enough, he did recognize some of the faces.

The room had been turned into a large tropical island, surrounded by warm water. The water was not deep, and included a sandbar leading to a smaller island. By the detail that went into it, Harry guessed this setup had been used before, it was brilliant. The sky had been a light pink hue when things had started up, simulating a late sunset that brought darkness by 9:30. There were dozens of circular tables set up with comfortable chairs around it, and for those wanting something a little more intimate, there were dozens more set up in a booth configuration. There were even seats set up in the shallow water, letting people sit up to their necks—or less if they wanted, the seat was adjustable.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” said Fred.

“Our honorary brother,” said George. They had found Harry submerged up to his shoulders in the water, a floating table in front of him supporting a cluster of mugs. Mazhe and Tommy sat on either side of him, Tommy nursing a bottle of beer.

“What can I do for you gents?” Harry grinned.

“Just wondering,”

“Who would we talk to about fireworks?” George finished.

“Um, you guys really think that's a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“Find Commander Dawson, he's the one who organized this. But I doubt they'll let you guys set off fireworks in here,” Harry answered.

“Thanks, Harry!”

“It'll be brilliant, we promise!” The pair took off, splashing water behind them.

“They're gonna blow themselves up one day,” said Mazhe, with a laugh.

“They already have, 'least according to Ron,” said Harry, “Always conducting experiments in their room back at the Burrow, drive Mrs. Weasley half-round the twist sometimes.”

“They're good for a laugh, that's for sure,” said Tommy, “Gave Malfoy something to think about a couple weeks ago.”

“I think, if they keep going at it, they'll make themselves a fortune one day. You guys have seen Zonko's right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Mazhe remembered. Tommy only nodded.

“The twins want to open their own joke shop one day. I think Mrs. Weasley would throw a fit, but that's beside the point. Do what you love and all that, right?” He picked up his mug of butterbeer and took a swig. He set it down, seeing Cedric approaching.

“Thanks for the invite, Harry.”

“Glad you could come. It was a shame I missed the ball, what I've heard, it was smashing.”

“It was. May I join you guys?”

“Of course!” Harry indicated a spot on the opposite side of the floating table.

“This is extraordinary magic.”

“Virtual Projection Room,” Harry answered, as Cedric took a seat and adjusted it, “We use it for training in the morning.”

“Training? Right, seen you guys a month ago, jogging around the lake.”

“Surprised no one else has commented about that actually, y'know, me being the boy-who-lived and all that nonsense. Oh... care for something to drink? Butterbeer, regular beer, spirits, firewhiskey...”

“A butterbeer's fine.”

Harry touched the table with his finger, and another full mug appeared.

“Harry... there you are,” said Justin, taking up a spot beside Mazhe.

Cedric regarded Tommy a moment.

“I remember most of you from the Quidditch World Cup, but... you're the newcomer then, I reckon.”

“Tommy Riordan.”

“Good to meet you.” A firm handshake. Cedric glanced over at the shore, and spotted Viktor. He waved him over.

“A meeting of champions, then,” Harry grinned. “Where's miss Delecour?”

“Around somewhere, I think.”

“That her over there?” Tommy pointed to a blonde-haired young woman speaking with a member of the crew.

“Think so.”

“Harry Potter,” Viktor said, simply.

“Viktor. Cedric called you over, but d'you mind doing a favour and inviting miss Delecour to join us?” Harry pointed Fleur out to the burly Bulgarian.

“Of course,” said Viktor, gruffly. He trudged off, making the table rock a little bit. He was only gone a minute, and returned with the Beauxbatons student.

“'arry, good to see you,” said Fleur.

“Likewise. Come join us.”

“It iz a pleasure!” Fleur claimed the seat beside Cedric, and Viktor claimed the seat beside her.

“I guess I should say thanks for warning me about the dragons, Harry,” said Cedric.

“Did you guys know about it beforehand?”

“I did,” Viktor answered, “The headmaster spoke to me two veeks before the task.”

“As did I,” said Fleur, her accent quite heavy. Harry momentarily looked over at Tommy, and could tell he was having a hard time sitting still.

“Didn't realize cheating was a part of the tournament,” said Mazhe, shaking his head.

“It iz rampant in ze history, yes,” Fleur answered.

“So it's okay to cheat? Just like it was okay for a Polyjuiced Death Eater to put my name in the goblet, even though I wasn't anywhere near Hogwarts.”

Harry let out a sigh.

“Forgive me for snapping, just, Gods, I so want to strangle a few people.”

“Okay. I know there's a rule about teachers not being allowed to help you guys, but... is there anything against helping each other?” Mazhe questioned.

“Vell... no, but... vhy vold ve do that? Ve are opponents, are ve not?”

“Once the task begins, yes, but not to hurt each other. Isn't this also about making new friends?”

“'arry does 'ave a point,” Fleur agreed.

“Nothing saying we can't look out for one another,” Cedric agreed, “This whole tournament is a bit dodgy I reckon, what with Harry's name coming out of it... the headmaster should have just redrawn.”

“For real?” Tommy furrowed his brow, while Mazhe looked furious.

“It's what dad says,” Cedric answered, “It's too late now, of course... I think once he extinguished the goblet, the participants were final.”

“I'll need to speak to miss Connor tomorrow, I think,” said Harry, bitterly.

“Couldn't they have changed the tasks?” Mazhe wondered, “I dunno, make it a chess competition, uh,exploding snap, is it, and a snowball fight or something's... make it less-dangerous and redraw.”

“Could.”

“The scary thing is, Voldemort planted Barty Crouch Jr. here to make sure I won the tournament,” said Harry, darkly, “The Triwizard Cup was going to be turned into a Portkey.”

“Did zey say where?” Fleur asked.

“No. I guess that bit wasn't finalized yet, but Gods...”

“Could've taken you anyvhere,” said Viktor, shaking his head.

“This is the Dark Lord we're talking about... or at least his servants. Made a royal mess of things at the end of October... it's why Tommy's with us now. Those of you who haven't met, this is Tommy.”

“It iz a pleasure,” said Fleur. Acting the perfect gentleman, Tommy kissed the offered hand. He then shook hands with the burly Bulgarian.

“I vold be villing to vork together, given the circumstances,” said Viktor.

“Agreed,” said Fleur.

“And agreed,” said Cedric.

“Y'know... these guys could come join us in the mornings,” Tommy suggested.

“Our training run?”

“Vot sort of training?”

“We do a jog around the lake—though now, it's in here,” said Tommy, shaking his head, “Still can't believe what this can do. Anyway, after that we do some stretches and shit like that.”

“Inside? Count me in,” said Viktor. The others quickly acquiesced.

As it grew closer to midnight, there came a sudden pop from an area a fair distance away from the island. A projectile soared into the air, to bloom into a shower of orange sparks, and a resulting louder BANG. Clearly, the twins had talked them into using fireworks.

“Thirty minutes!” came an amplified voice.

They had long since left the water, Harry feeling much like a wrinkled prune. He had sent Dobby to fetch a change of clothes for everyone, and now they were dry and warm, clustered in a group around one of the larger tables.

“Harry! Can we join you?” Hermione had at last come over with Ron.

“Hermione, of course you can! C'mon, sit.” Harry indicated two empty seats. They were quickly occupied by the newcomers.

“This has been a wicked party, thanks for inviting us!” said Ron, enthusiastically.

“It wasn't my idea. The ship's XO made the suggestion, I thought it was brilliant.”

“XO?”

“Executive Officer of the ship, he's just below the captain,” Justin explained. “Really surprised they opened it up so widely to civilians, though.”

“We're here, aren't we?” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah but you're special. Letting three schools worth of strangers on board...” Justin shook his head.

“Just glad they did it, it's been excellent.” Harry thought for a moment. “Y'know, we should think about doing something like this after the second task.”

“Another party?”

“Celebrate togezer? 'arry is right, why not?” Fleur questioned.

“Can't hurt, right? Sure. But it has to include everyone, just like tonight,” said Cedric.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Fifteen minutes!” came the amplified voice. At that, several bottles of champagne appeared on the table, along with glasses for everyone. Three large platters also appeared at the centre of the table, containing cheese, crackers, and vegetables.

Harry had to grin, seeing Hagrid dancing with Madam Maxime.

“What?” Mazhe asked.

“I think Hagrid's in love,” Harry answered, pointing the pair out discreetly.

“They've been dancing together most of the night, mate.”

“Good on him, all I have to say. He's got a great heart. I'll definitely miss his classes next year.”

“You are leaving 'ogwarts?” Fleur asked.

“He's been trying to do that since the end of first year,” said Justin, “Dumbledore keeps finding ways to keep him here.”

“Zat is not very nice. We make up our on minds where we go to school. I am certain Beauxbatons would love to 'ave you, 'arry.”

“That's not the issue, Fleur. It wouldn’t matter where I wanted to go, Dumbledore keeps finding ways of dragging me back. I don't want to speak badly of Hogwarts, but the place isn't safe for me, it never has been. This tournament being case-in-point.”

“The headmaster's actions are criminal,” said Viktor, with a scowl.

“We know. The Commonwealth will be taking action in the new year, I can tell you that much. The ICW won't like it very much, but too bad. Harry's a citizen of Valicadia, and given who he is, a lot of extra precautions are being taken to make sure he's ready to fulfil his destiny,” said Justin, snatching a rolled up slice of ham off of one of the platters.

“Vot sort of destiny?” Viktor asked.

“I can't get into it, but it deals with Voldemort. I know he's going to come back—I mean, we think that's the whole reason I was illegally entered in this tournament. They have a way to bring him back, but...”

“Zey need you to do it,” Fleur guessed, to which Harry slowly nodded.

“That's about the size of it.”

“Five minutes! Fill your glasses, everyone!” came the amplified voice, “Everyone please stand if you're sitting.”

Glasses were being filled with white bubbly, while everyone got to their feet. The anticipation was palpable, as the time dwindled away. Harry had not really celebrated the new year before, but he already knew he would do it again. The energy was almost intoxicating.

“And ten... nine... eight... seven...” The enormous crowd quickly joined in. “Three... two... one...”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” A thunderous cry went up, as the sky seemed to bloom overhead with a brilliant display of fireworks.

* * *

_January 1, 2005 / 1 Morning Star, 4E200_

It was a late morning for just about everyone in the suite. The party had went into the early hours of the morning, with the last of the guests being port keyed away just after 3 am. Therefore, it was going on 11 am before anyone stirred. Harry made his way into the dining room, to find only Mazhe present. Brunch was already set out, being kept warm by a warming charm. There were also several potions clustered at the centre of the table. Harry knew there would be a few of the group who would need it.

“Hey.”

“'morning,” Harry grinned. “Gods, a good night all in all, I think.”

“Agreed. Never attended anything like that before. I know the Jarls hold social events now and then, but... never with that many people.”

“I had a great time last night. And the other champions are in agreement that we should do it again when the second task is finished.”

“Good that you guys are working together. Didn't seem right that you would all see yourselves as opponents and nothing more.”

“Agreed.”

Harry fixed himself a plate of scrambled eggs, two slices of ham, and a bagel with cream cheese.

“Have to wonder what Dumbledore will think of all this.”

“Pissed.”

Both of them turned to find Eric stepping into the room.

“He demanded to be allowed to attend last night. Captain O'Toole basically told him to fuck off.”

Harry had to smirk.

“Good on him.”

“ _Actual to AIC immediately_ ,” came a voice on the speaker below the phone.

Eric arched an eyebrow.

“O'Toole is supposed to have the day off.”

“Fuck, not so loud.” Tommy sat down rather heavily, looking like he wanted to hold his head with both hands.

“Hangover cure,” said Eric, pointing to a cluster of bottles. “Beware, they're especially nasty.”

“Long as it works.” Tommy snatched one of the bottles and quickly consumed its contents.

“ _AIC, COM, recommend condition three throughout the ship,_ ” the speaker squawked.

“Shit,” Eric cursed, “Something's up.”

“Condition three?”

“Condition yellow. Been a while since we've had that happen. Gotta go, guys.” Eric left the room, and the suite door opening moments later confirmed he had left the suite.

“Still doesn't explain what it means,” Harry muttered.

“Threat to the Commonwealth. Whether it's internal or external, the military goes into readiness state,” Justin explained, as he stepped into the room.

“You mean terrorism,” Tommy guessed, to which Justin gave a brief nod.

“Yeah, exactly. Unfortunate, but we get those groups of people as well, who want to stir up shit and cause misery for everyone else.”

Justin pulled up a seat, and began preparing a plate for himself.

“Most of the time though we're able to figure out what people are up to, and catch them before people get hurt.”

“Sounds like the NSA,” said Tommy.

“National Security Administration. Yeah. We tap into their satellites. But we also have magic on our side, so surveillance of that sort of crap is pretty easy.”

Further discussion was interrupted, as a pair of owls flew in through the window, to land in front of Harry. Both of them brought letters, which he quickly retrieved. Both of them did not wait for a reply, but headed back out the window.

The first letter bore the seal of the Ministry of Social Services, while the second bore the Gringotts seal. He guessed they were related, and so opened the one from the ministry first.

 

_Mr. Harry Potter  
Care of HMS Ragnar_

  _Mr. Potter,_

_This type of action is not normally taken. The laws and regulations regarding a witch or wizard's legal age are in place for some very good reasons. That said, it is also understood you are by no means an ordinary wizard; both the Commonwealth and Wizarding England are in agreement on this._

_When your name came out of the Goblet of Fire, directly in contravention of additional rules set in place surrounding the tournament, put in place by Hogwarts' own headmaster, this has created a rather unusual circumstance. Although you are only fourteen years old, it is clear that Wizarding England now sees you as an adult by legal standard._

_This, naturally, does not mean they would outright recognize such a thing, but we are not discussing English Wizarding law, but our own. Therefore, as of January 1, 2005, we at the ministry do certify that Mr. Harry James Potter is now legally an adult in the eyes of the law. This, of course, also affects a number of financial matters, and a letter from Gringotts should be finding its way to you shortly._

_Now that that business is out of the way, don't feel we are pushing you out the door, and will stop providing assistance and guidance. You are legally an adult, but you are still fourteen. Myself and Alice will always be there for you._

_Best wishes, and we'll have a nice chat in a few days when we return to work,_

(a signature was scrawled here)

_William P. Jarvis,_

_Supervisory caseworker, Ministry of Social Services_

(A second signature was scrawled here, as well as an official-looking stamp)

_Ross K. Sanders, Minister of Social Services_

 

Harry grinned madly as he put the parchment down.

“Good news?” Mazhe asked.

“Oh, very. They've made me legally an adult because of the tournament.”

“Guys... sorry to interrupt your late breakfast, but we have a problem.” Brandon now stood at the doorway leading out to the common room.

“What's going on?”

“I've been instructed to escort you guys by floo powder back to the College of Winterhold.”

“Something bad?”

“We don't know, my orders are from her majesty.”

“C'mon, guys,” Harry said, standing up and pocketing the two letters.

Within a matter of minutes, they had regrouped in Harry's set of rooms in the Hall of Attainment. Given he was still in a tee shirt and boxers, Harry changed into his mages' robes.

“What's going on, Brandon?” Harry dared ask.

“Twenty seven people were exposed to Anthrax sometime yesterday afternoon in Trevelyan. All but five are dead.”

“All in one place?” Justin asked.

“No. Yes. Sort of. They all received letters.”

“What is Anthrax?” Harry asked.

“Bad shit,” Tommy answered, scowling.

“Sums it up quite nicely,” Brandon agreed, “It's a serious disease caused by something that resembles fungal spores. The symptoms are quite nasty, and it can be fatal.”

“And they sent the spores in the mail,” Mazhe guessed.

“Exactly. The government's gone into elevated security, and important people are being taken to secure locations.”

“Such as me,” said Harry.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Until the Ministry of Defence decides the threat is neutralized.”

“Your mail system doesn't look for anthrax spores?” Tommy asked.

“The regular mail system, yes. But not if it was sent by owl.”

“Someone who's magical then.”

“No,” said Justin, shaking his head, “Anyone can access a post owl. But that's the thing, they're a bit expensive.”

“And impossible to track,” said Brandon. “The letters on the other hand, the Department of Information will be very interested in those. We leave lots of shit behind when we mail a letter. And if they're magical, even better.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair.

“Gods. I... guess I should have expected that. You know, it doesn't matter where you're from... what flag you were born under... everyone, every place has its element.”

“So true, Harry,” said Brandon, “Not even we are lily-white.”

He only needed to look across the table at Tommy to realize how close to home that statement truly was. His mobile rang.

“Lieutenant Commander McAllister. Yes... yes, we're safe. ...I'll make sure that's done... for real? Shit. All right, thank you.” He hung up.

“Now what?” Justin said.

“Fifty letters were sent out in Erwin. Twenty in White Gate—a medium sized research community in the Arctic. No deaths, but lots of people in the hospital.” Brandon directed his wand at the fireplace, and muttered a spell. The fire instantly went out, as it shimmered red for a moment.

“Floo lockout.”

“Yeah. I need not say, do not open anything you get by owl.”

“A little late,” said Harry, pulling out the two letters he had received only a short while before. Brandon went to snatch both of them, but did not, recognizing the seals on them.

“No, they wouldn't have been infected. The letters themselves were written on regular paper, just the words, 'Happy new year, C'.”

Mazhe scowled. “If that's a new years' prank, it's not very funny.”

“Agreed. Piss on this, I'm taking my broom out.”

“We're told to keep you close,” said Brandon.

“I'm going flying. I strongly doubt whoever it is can get to us here.” He retrieved his broom from his trunk, and was out the door before there could be further protests, with Mazhe quickly following.

It was nearly dark by the time they returned. Harry looked exhausted, but otherwise calm.

“Where did you guys go?”

“To Shor's Stone and back,” Harry answered, “A good flight, I think. Sorry if I snapped earlier, I just needed to blow off a bit of steam.”

“No, it's all right,” said Brandon, “Keep forgetting the extra security here. I guess this is pretty much your back yard.”

“Something like that,” said Harry, with a grin, as he again took a seat at the table.

“Sirius and Remus have taken the children to a secret location in the Caribbean. They send word to 'sit tight until things blow over',” said Justin. “We debated about having Dobby bring them here, but given the space is tight as it is, your godfather assured us they'll be perfectly safe.”

“You received two letters this morning, did you not?” Mazhe reminded him.

“Right.” Harry at last turned his attention to the second letter, thankful for the second distraction.

 

_Mr. H. J. Potter,_  
Care of HMS Ragnar,  
Commonwealth of Valicadia

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Complying with a directive from the Government of Valicadia, Gringotts bank has reinstated your access to vault 678, which houses your school trust fund, and some contents from vault 934, which is that of your estate left behind by your mother and father. You will find keys to both vaults enclosed with this letter._

_Additionally, and also by directive of the Government of Valicadia, you are currently the only individual with rights to access either vault. Additional keys to both vaults have been invalidated, and the last known individuals holding those keys notified accordingly._

_Yours,_

_Korwathten,_

_Director, Gringotts, Trevelyan Branch_

 

“And Dumbledore gets another black eye,” Harry smirked, “By his own hand this time.”

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not a very happy headmaster at the moment. The four letters now laying open on the desk in front of him had just soured his morning and in no small way. All four of them had legal ramifications, and all four of them were related to the target of his obsession lately: Harry Potter. Obsession? No, he was only acting for the _greater good_... right?

 

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry_

 

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_Given the continued liberties taken against her majesty's ward and those close to him, the Commonwealth is moving to increase its presence within your school, to better provide security, with hopes of preventing an incident such as that which happened to Mr. Riordan (nee Conlon) at the end of the fall term._

_Members of her majesty's Royal Marines will be taking up stations and patrols in the school so long as Mr. Potter is in attendance. Any interference with this order will result in us withdrawing Mr. Potter from the school._

_It must be stressed that Mr. Potter will not be attending Hogwarts in September. Alternate schooling has already been arranged, and your input regarding such is neither desired nor welcomed._

_A further and final note, it is ordered that you have no contact with Mr. Potter unless said contact is for official matters: education and class material, or the Triwizard tournament. Both of these exceptions will expire with the conclusion of the Triwizard tournament. It is ordered that, during those exceptions, Mr. Potter will not be in your presence without supervision for both parties. In other words, you will have a member of your faculty present during such meetings. Mr. Potter reserves the right to decline such a meeting, or to defer it._

_You may ignore these directives at your own peril._

_Abagaile Wentworth_

_Attorney General of Valicadia_

 

More foreign soldiers on English soil. And the Wizengamot was already up in arms about the Ragnar! His complaints to the ICW were still falling on deaf ears as it was—though he wouldn't admit they no longer trusted him. The frightening thing was, it was opening the door to a very dangerous scenario. If the Commonwealth chose to actually invade, by the time they realized what was going on, it would be too late.

The No-contact order was another blow. Given Harry was always in the company of at least one of those black-clad soldiers, it would be almost impossible to circumvent the order. If anything, Valicadia was thorough.

Of course... they had declared Harry off limits, but not his friends. He was still on the fence about which he would use in the upcoming second task. It was evident Mazhe was by far Harry's best friend and then some, with Mr. Fraser being a close second.

The new man... boy... Dumbledore could no longer decide how to address him, considering the accident just before the holidays. Mr. Conlon was as strong a supporter and friend as the others by this point. Add to it the fact he was by now much closer to Harry's age, it was a strong factor. Then of course, the accident provided the perfect chance to catch him.

 

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_By order of the Ministry of Social Services, be it known that the individual known as Harry James Potter has been granted Early Adult Rights, effective today, January 1_ _st_ _, 2005. Attorneys are presently visiting the Improper Use of Magic office at your Ministry with a similar directive, and it is expected that your Ministry comply with this order. He will be visited by a curse-breaker sometime during the day so that the Trace may be removed from his person._

_Yours,_

_Doris Bishop_

_Ministry of Justice_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

 

As if things weren't complicated as it was. The Commonwealth was bending over backward to protect a boy who shouldn't be their business in the first place. Given the way the Ministry was and its opinion of Harry, Madam Hopkirk would probably just comply without a thought. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles, and plucked another lemon drop out of the candy dish resting on the corner of his desk. Yet another small avenue for leverage had been snatched from his grip.

 

_Headmaster,_

_This letter is to inform you that your keys accessing vaults 678 and 934 have both been invalidated, as the access has been revoked and returned to their rightful owner._

_Ragnorak_

_Gringotts, London Branch_

 

Dumbledore wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, like he'd seen Severus do so many times. It was a natural course of events, given the boy had been declared legally an adult. All that wealth, snatched from his—or the Order's—grasp. The Potters had been incredibly wealthy, with a worth in the millions of galleons, and likely more than that, with the investments. The money could have funded a good many different initiatives and projects, all of which moving toward dealing with the Dark Lord.

Of course, with the current plot being so easily foiled by those blasted soldiers... Dumbledore was still at a loss on what to do. Voldemort had to be resurrected in the spring, or the timetable would be in jeopardy. If Harry were to see the Dark Lord return, perhaps he would be more inclined to stay, and resign to his fate. He'd sent Severus with a missive to Pettigrew over the holidays, but thus far nothing positive had come of it. Fawkes ruffled his feathers and let out a low, mournful cry.

“It is for the greater good, my friend.”

 

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_A series of terrorist attacks have played out within the Commonwealth overnight. Twenty-eight deaths, and nearly a hundred suffering severe medical complications have resulted._

_You are being informed of this because at this time, Harry and his friends have been moved to a safe location, and will remain there until this scenario comes to its end._

_If a_ mandatory _tournament-related event comes up before the situation has been declared safe, arrangements will be made so that Harry may participate. That said, we would appreciate some advance notice. Naturally, we are aware of the date of the second task already._

_Sincerely,_

_Tyrone Dawson_

_Executive Officer,_

_HMS Ragnar_

 

Dumbledore was both angry and somewhat glad of the Commonwealth's actions here. They had likely moved anyone of importance to a place of safety. They acted exactly as a Muggle government would—much like the United States had in September of 2001. The American Department of Magic had lots to say with regard to that particular incident, with advice to adopt similar procedures to protect the senior government heads.

If the previous letters hadn't made it clear of their position, the last one most certainly did. The Commonwealth considered Harry Potter a person of great importance, and would go to great lengths to ensure his safety and survival. What would happen when the time came for him to face Voldemort?

* * *

_January 23, 2005 / 23 Morning Star, 4E200_

It had taken well over two weeks before the Commonwealth finally tracked down the individual responsible for the mass mailing of Bacillus anthracis endospores. Unfortunately, the individual had swallowed a lethal poison mere moments before being captured, and died without any sort of explanation. A search of his body came up empty, but just the same, the Department of Information was asked to dig into the man's life. By all accounts, however, the man had acted alone.

The routine for Harry and his circle had been significantly changed during their sequestering. Without access to the Virtual Projection Room, the morning training session had to be modified. Skyrim's winter was downright brutal that year, and all were in agreement that exercising outside was really not that important to risk frostbite and hypothermia. The winter was uncharacteristically cold; even Tolfdir and the Arch-mage were in agreement to that fact.

Their training session, therefore, consisted of mostly stretching and strength training. The effort was certainly starting to pay off; Harry was gaining more bulk, and all of it muscle. Thinking back, he realized he looked much like Mazhe had at fifteen. Just before their forced retreat back to Skyrim, Harry was easily able to keep up with Tommy on their run half-way around the virtual lake. His stamina had grown enormously, something that would mean the difference in a fight, whether it be magical or not.

Back to the point in the story, Harry and his friends at last arrived back in their suite aboard the Ragnar by floo powder just before lunch time. Commander Dawson was waiting, along with a few others.

“Mr. Potter. Welcome back.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry answered.

“You'll find there have been a few changes since you were sequestered, Harry.”

“Will. And Bill! What are you doing here?”

Harry was surprised to find the eldest Weasley sitting on one of the couches.

“Here in an official capacity, actually,” Bill answered.

“You did get the letter we sent you just before everything got stuffed a the beginning of the month?” Will questioned.

“Yeah. Thank you... though I don't know how much weight it'll have here in England.”

“There's more to it. You know about the restriction on underage magic?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Given you're legally an adult, we can remove the Trace from you. That requires the services of a curse-breaker and warder.”

“As in, me,” said Bill.

“Right. You work for Gringotts.”

“We thought you would be more comfortable if he performed the work, given you already know who he is,” Will explained.

“I appreciate that.”

“What's this 'trace'?” Tommy asked.

“It's a charm put on under aged witches and wizards at the end of their first year of magical education. Children aren't normally allowed to do magic outside of school. If they do, the trace alerts the Improper Use of Magic office—it's the same both in the Commonwealth and the British Ministry of Magic. In our case, the Commonwealth makes an investigation as to why, and it can result in a nasty fine for the parents,” Will explained.

“But the child broke the rule,” Mazhe challenged, “Why would the parents get in trouble?”

“Because it's the parents' responsibility to keep the child in check.”

“Hm. Interesting,” said Bill, “Our Ministry would first send out a warning. Another incident, the child would be expelled and have their wand snapped by the Ministry.”

“Just for doing magic out of school.” Tommy shook his head. “What happens to them after that?”

“Banned from using magic. They become something like a squib. You know about those?”

“Yeah. I sort of know how they feel.”

“A good lot of non-magical people in the Commonwealth have similar feelings, it's not unnatural,” said Will. “Get some extreme cases sometimes where someone lashes out from jealousy. It usually doesn't end well.”

“No shit. Someone would need a lot of balls... or they're touched in the head.”

“Or they're strung out on a lot of drugs. Police responding to a scene like that, it's generally a mop-up. Our office gets called in to handle crisis-management.”

“Right. That's going way off of what we're supposed to be doing here,” said Harry, “Let's just... well...”

“Come sit down and we can get started.” Bill indicated the couch opposite.

“Now... Mr. Riordan. We have a piece of news regarding your family.”

“They were, uh, recovered, I guess.”

“They were,” Will replied, “Given the weather and so on, a burial won't be held until the spring. We'll make sure you and your nieces will be able to attend it.”

“Appreciate that.” A storm of emotions crossed the young man's face, but he held them in check.

“The Department of Information was considering making alterations to your Muggle records and so on, but it would require too much time and manpower, when it's just as easy to put you in a disguise and keep you hidden,” Will explained.

“Got no interest in going back now, 'cept for the funeral. Tell them don't waste their time on me. My life in the U.S. died with my pop and my brother.”

“I'm sure Mrs. T. will be pleased to hear that,” said Brandon, “I know they were still considering it.”

“Right. That should just about do it,” said Bill, as a final violet shade momentarily engulfed Harry. There was a distinctive 'pop'.

“Brilliant. Thanks, Bill.”

* * *

During lunch the following day, Cedric ventured over from the Hufflepuff table.

“Welcome back, Harry.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you solved your egg yet?”

“No. How about you guys?”

“It was Fleur who came up with the solution. Take your egg for a bath.” He grinned, and was gone, before Harry could respond.

“Take the egg for a bath? He's barking,” Ron muttered.

“Well, if it was Fleur who solved first... guess there's only one way to find out. It'll have to wait until after dinner. I'll use the Ragnar's training pool.”

“Might want to put up a few silencing charms, just in case.”

“He knows that already,” Justin smirked, “He's been hexed at least twice by members of the crew for that God-awful racket.”

“Seeing a lot more of the Commonwealth's soldiers. Harry, what happened?” Hermione questioned.

Indeed, even as they had lunch, there were four soldiers stationed in the Great Hall: two at either end. They wore woodland camouflage pattern uniforms, and though it appeared they were unarmed, to Harry and those who lived within the Commonwealth, this was a false illusion.

“You guys know what anthrax is?” Justin questioned.

Ron stared at him blankly, while Hermione slowly nodded. Being Muggle-born, she most certainly knew about it.

“It's something that can float easily in the air, and if someone breathes it, the resulting illness can be fatal. New Year's Day, a bunch of people in a number of cities within the Commonwealth became very sick from it, some of them died. The government activated a protection protocol, which protects high-level government officials, the Prime Minister, and the Queen. Harry is also on that list.”

“So that's why you were away for so long,” Ron guessed.

“Yeah, pretty much. We were sent back to Skyrim, given there's only one way to get there and it's warded to the teeth. While that was going on, I received a few letters, one of which notified me I have legal adult status, among other things.”

“The Commonwealth also sent several notices to the headmaster giving him an earful about a few things, and letting him know of the extra security. If the old man insists on doing little to nothing as far as security is concerned, then we will do it for him. I think the Queen has dispatched sixty or so Royal Marines to keep an eye on the castle,” said Justin, “I'm sure that really made his day.”

His eyes flicked over to the head table, and no surprise, the old man was watching the group.

“And I'm not okay with any of it,” said Harry, frowning, “I hate it that they're bending over backward over me. They're meant to protect the Commonwealth, not a single individual.”

“They're at the direction of the Ministry of Defence, Harry. They do as is required, and if that means protecting a single individual, then that's what they do,” Justin answered.

“Well, I'm still not okay with it.”

“Can't wait 'till Malfoy tries something with them, then,” Ron smirked.

“Ron! Get serious,” Hermione scolded.

“He tries anything, it'll be his worst mistake,” said Justin, “They'll give Dumbledore two choices: expel him, or the Commonwealth takes him into custody. That simple.”

“But this is an English school,” said Dean Thomas, “The Commonwealth can't just—”

“But they will,” Justin cut across him, “Draco's already crossed a line on several occasions. The same with Pansy Parkinson. Well, I mean, two strikes automatically. She pulls anything, it won't be a good end, I promise that.”

“Look, guys. Really. Dumbledore's had ample chance to actually do his job, and make the school a safe place, but he's failed. If anything, there's a better chance he's instigating some of the things going on while I'm here.” He glanced down at his watch. “We'd best be going. I have Ancient Runes in ten minutes.”

That evening, Harry and his circle claimed a small corner of the training pool in the Ragnar's athletic centre. He was unsure of whether the water's depth would mean anything, but at this stage, he was ready to try anything. There was a month left before the second task of the tournament.

“Here. This'll make things a little easier,” said Brandon, reaching into his utility vest. He retrieved what looked like a respirator.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“A rebreather. It'll let you breathe underwater indefinitely.”

“Wicked.”

Brandon helped him to don the apparatus—a simple matter of adjusting the strap around the back of his head so the mask sealed properly. It was relatively small, and only covered the nose and mouth.

“Now... here, put this in your ear, like so.” Brandon held out a small clip-like device.

“An ear piece.”

“Right. You guys are all getting them,” Brandon explained, while Harry inserted the device. It clipped onto his ear lobe, and became virtually unnoticeable. “Now if you touch it...” Harry did so. “You'll be able to hear us.” Sure enough, he could hear Brandon speaking, both 'live', and in the ear piece. “Touch it again to switch it off.”

“Isn't there a microphone?”

“Right now, it's in your rebreather. We'll give you a different set that you clip onto your clothing.”

“Wicked.”

“The ear piece also serves as a GPS transmitter. We'll be giving you a few toys now, that's just the start,” said Brandon.

“Out of a James Bond flick, I think,” said Tommy.

“'cept this stuff is very real,” Justin answered, “You won't believe the number of ideas we get from the movies.”

“Right. Let's get on with this, then. Will this work underwater?” Harry gestured to the ear piece.

“Perfectly,” Brandon answered.

“Good.” Harry shed his tee shirt, and jumped into the water. It was only up to his chest, and he surfaced almost immediately.

“Ready?” Mazhe was crouched by the side of the pool with the egg. Harry gave a nod, and Mazhe passed it over. Harry held it close, then pulled himself underwater, and twisted the knob on the egg, letting it spring open, expecting the terrible screeching sound he'd heard so many times. Instead, a chorus of beautiful voices were singing to him:

 

_Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching, ponder this;_

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And recover what we took,_

_But past an hour - the prospect's black,_

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

 

Harry listened to it at least five times before he finally snapped the egg shut, and pulled himself to the surface.

“Better than that horrible screeching sound,” said Brandon, with a grin. Harry smirked, and opened the egg. Everyone winced.

“Payback's a bitch, y'know,” Eric muttered, rubbing his ears. Harry shrugged, and tossed the now closed egg to Mazhe, who expertly caught it.

“We'll just run him extra-hard tomorrow,” Tommy smirked.

“Right, and I'll vanish ALL your tattoos,” Harry smirked right back. “Permanently.”

Tommy blinked.

“Right. Seriously. _Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground_ ,” Justin said, reading from a page of paper. He had been able to listen in, and wrote down the clue.

“Something that lives underwater.”

“Something in the lake,” Mazhe suggested.

“It would make sense, they probably don't plan on taking the champions far from the school,” Justin guessed, “Obviously he's got an hour to find whatever it is.”

“Something really important. Something you care a lot about,” Tommy thought.

“It'll be a little difficult,” said Harry, as he climbed out of the pool. “I don't keep anything at the castle. It's all either in my suite here on the ship, or back at the College.”

“They'll have to find something to put in its place then,” Mazhe guessed, “I'm guessing you'll know what it is when you, uh, find it.”

Tommy furrowed his brow. “Doesn't make a lot of sense.”

“When has this tournament made any sense, Tommy?” Harry snapped, “Bloody hell, we're talking about a whiskered wanker who really doesn't give a whole lot of thought toward people's feelings, the security of his school, peoples' opinions for that matter. At this point, I don't put a whole lot by him.”

He sucked in a breath and blew it out.

“Right. Best get back, and send the others an owl to let them know what we've come up with. Thanks for the help, guys.”

Hermione, of course, was able to solve the 'who' part of the equation.

“There is a population of merpeople in the Black Lake, Harry. It would make sense that they can't use their voices out of the water.”

“Brilliant. Thanks, Hermione. That leaves only the 'what' at this point. Tommy thinks it's something I care a great deal about, but like I said to him, none of my things are... accessible. At least not to anyone who shouldn't.”

“But Harry, this is Professor Dumbledore we're talking about. If he wants something or needs something done, he will find a way.”

Harry could only nod slowly, knowing she was right.

“I... maybe I might send everything back to the College for the days leading up to the task, just in case. Though really, my things? It isn't exactly the end of the world if something should happen, right? There are things more important than... stuff.”

* * *

_February 21, 2005_

Just as Harry and his friends were finishing dinner, Professor McGonagall approached them.

“Mr. Conlon. Madam Pomfrey wishes to have a word with you in the hospital wing.”

Tommy frowned. “What about?”

“A follow-up, I believe.”

“We'll head there shortly,” said Harry.

“Also, miss Granger, Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you in his office.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“And Potter.”

“Professor?”

“Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

When they entered the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was waiting, and she directed Tommy to lay on one of the beds.

“How long's this gonna take?”

“It could be a while. In all my years, I've never encountered a case like this before,” answered the healer, taking out her wand.

“You guys go. I'll be okay.”

“You sure? We can wait.”

“No. Don't you have prep to do for tomorrow?”

“I guess.”

“Anyway, something's not right, I know how to reach you, right?”

“He's got a point,” said Justin, “C'mon, I think we can leave him for the evening.”

“All right, all right, I surrender,” Harry grinned.

“All right, you lot, shoo! Let me tend to my patient.”

Tommy did not return to the Ragnar that night, and it wasn't until Harry met up with Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor that he gave it any further thought. The morning was cold and overcast as they made their way down to the lake; the Ragnar hovering directly overhead only contributed to the darkness.

“I was hoping to have a chat with Cho this morning,” Cedric commented, “She was a ball of nerves before the first task.”

“I'm sure she's in the crowd already,” Harry answered, motioning toward the stands on the opposite side of the lake—the same stands they had used during the first task. They were stuffed to overflowing, and if he squinted, he could once again make out a contingent of his supporters from the Commonwealth. In front, there appeared to be several enormous screens.

“Harry! Good, good, all four of you are here.”

“Mr. Brown, good to see you again.”

“Considering what the task entails, we thought it might be helpful if the crowd can actually see what you four are doing. Here. These are miniature cameras. They are worn like so...” Oren had Harry hold the other three, while he demonstrated how to wear it.

“I vill have difficulty using one,” said Viktor, “I vill be using a partial self-transfiguration.”

“No worries, my boy, the camera will accommodate itself and it won't be intrusive in any way.”

“Very vell.”

Harry passed one over, and the second to Fleur, while Oren passed his over to Cedric.

“The cameras will broadcast what you're seeing to the screens in front of the audience.”

“Brilliant.”

“Ludo Bagman was somewhat hesitant, but when we gave a small demonstration last week, he was nearly over the moon, I think. All right, I have to go. Good luck to all of you.” He took off in a sprint.

“Who was zat?” Fleur asked.

“Oren Brown, the minister for Culture and Heritage,” Justin answered, “His ministry also oversees sports and games.”

“Wondered about that,” said Harry, “This was a brilliant thought though. Hey guys... have you heard from Tommy this morning?”

“Last I heard, he was still with Madam Pomfrey. He's not called for help, so we don't think he's in any danger. Why?”

“Just thinking is all. Ced, when was the last time you saw Cho?”

“Last night at dinner.”

“And my sister, Gabrielle! I 'ave not seen 'er since last night.”

Harry felt a stone fall into the pit of his stomach.

“Oh you bastard.”

“Harry?” Mazhe looked at him questioningly.

“Hostages.” Harry reached up and touched the ear clip. “Ragnar, over.”

“ _Mr. Potter?_ ”

“They took Tommy.”

“ _Say again?_ ”

“They're using hostages for the second task.”

“Harry, you can't get them to intervene,” Justin warned, “It might violate the contract, remember?”

“ _We'll be watching, and we'll intervene if we have to,_ ” came Ty's voice.

“Thank you, sir.” He pressed the ear piece again. His face said it all: panic. Tommy was still relatively new in the circle, but he meant just as much to Harry as Mazhe, and to a slightly smaller scale, Justin. The guy was still conflicted on a number of matters, and perhaps that was what drove him at this point, but he had dove headlong into his friendship with the group, and perhaps more so with Harry.

“Ve vill stick together,” Viktor decided.

“Work as a team? Works for me,” Cedric agreed, “I didn't want anyone else in danger on the count of me.”

“Likewise. Perhaps the three of you might join us when we let Dumbledore have it at the conclusion of the task. Oh, and I can't wait to see what the Commonwealth does.” He gave a vicious smile. “Old wanker doesn't know when to quit, I'll give him that.”

“How old is your sister, Fleur?” Mazhe asked.

“She is only eight.”

“Gods. And he calls his precautions adequate?” Harry could tell by his facial expression he was grinding his teeth. His friend was pissed.

“Harry. Look at me,” he said, after drawing a calming breath. “He'll be fine.”

“I... I want to believe that. Gods.” Harry drew a breath himself, clasped an amulet he wore around his neck, and whispered, “May Talos protect them with a ready sword...”

“Plant the seeds of doubt and defeat in the hearts their enemies,” Mazhe joined in, and they continued, “Bring strength and courage to their allies... and may there be a place held for them in Arkay's realm should they part this day.”

Harry had to duck down and wipe his eyes. Last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him shedding tears. He had a job to do.

The water was freezing, make no mistake. Harry had quickly cast a strong warming charm on himself, already having experienced swimming in the frigid waters in Skyrim. After all, the Sea of Ghosts was an unforgiving body of water in many ways. In retrospect, the Black Lake was somewhat tame compared to the prior. It was like entering a different world.

The four of them at once began to make for deeper water, getting directions from the Ragnar. Although Tommy had not left his ear piece on, it still broadcast his position quite well. Harry took the lead, with Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor directly behind.

Viktor was not kidding about using self-transfiguration. His lower body was still human, but his upper body had been transformed into that of a shark, although he still had hands. It was rather frightening. Both Cedric and Fleur had some sort of bubble on their faces—a charm he would most certainly ask about once the task was over. At the moment, they had much bigger fish to fry—namely locating the merpeople village. Although he couldn't answer back, he could still hear Ty's voice in his ear, giving him directions.

It was nearly a half-hour before they reached the location. Harry had already seen pictures of the merpeople, thanks to the research facilities on board the Ragnar. In addition to several books, the computers had been able to give him a rather graphic profile of the creatures. They were quite intelligent, but lived rather simple lives in a communal village.

As they got closer, the inhabitants began to appear. They had grey skin, yellow eyes, and green hair that splayed out in all directions. Their lower half consisted of a tail better suited for a shark than a fish, and in their hands they held fearsome tridents. Their dwellings were made of rock, covered in algae, and in the various windows, Harry could barely make out faces peering at him from the shadows.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder, and Harry spun around to find the others were directly behind. Cedric pointed to a location left of him: their goal. The village square, where it seemed like dozens of merpeople were gathered, a number of them singing in their beautiful, haunting voices. At the centre of the square, stood an enormous stone-carved statue of a merperson, and tethered to it, were the four hostages.

Tommy was suspended beside Cho Chang, and a girl who looked like a younger version of Fleur. Lastly, there was a young man in Durmstrang robes: Viktor's hostage. Harry produced a dwarven blade he had recently crafted, and began making for the hostages. The others quickly followed, although Viktor actually reached them first, given he was half of a fish. The merpeople scattered seeing his dangerous form.

Harry quickly cut through the ropes holding Tommy in place, but held onto him and passed the blade over to Cedric, who did the same for Cho. It was silent agreement that no one would make for the surface until all the hostages were free. Viktor had tried to use his teeth to release his friend, but it didn't work all that well. Harry saw the problem, and let the burly Bulgarian borrow his blade.

Once Fleur had freed her little sister, they clustered together with their hostages, and began a rapid ascent to the surface. The merpeople had gathered around, but kept their distance, as though offering some sort of respect for the four young people who had descended into their midst that morning. All in all, the entire operation had gone rather smoothly, even given the urgency of it.

They broke the surface as one unit, arm in arm, with the hostages in the middle. They instantly woke, as the charm keeping them in stasis broke.

“Harry? Wha... What the fuck?” Tommy sputtered, his face clouding as the freezing cold water attacked him.

“Just... hold still...” Harry didn't have his wand in his hand, but at this point he really didn't care. He cast a strong warming charm on his friend and the other hostages.

“Vandless? You surprise me again, Harry Potter,” said Viktor.

“Please keep that between us,” said Harry, “It's a secret weapon, not many know I can do it.”

“Eet is, very rare.” Fleur was impressed, although she still had most of her attention on her younger sister.

“Here it is, I know. C'mon, let's get to the platform so we can get warm and dry.”

Minutes later, they were all standing on a platform in the middle of the lake, wrapped in warm towels. The judges were engaged in deep conversation, going over what they had just witnessed. Karkaroff's face kept twisting into an angry snarl, and it was likely he wasn't happy with what they were talking about. It was a good ten minutes before they broke, and Ludo Bagman put his wand to his throat, and amplified his voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice carrying easily across the lake, “Although there is nothing in the rules directly prohibiting the champions from assisting one another during the tasks, this level of cooperation has only been recorded a few times during the long history of the tournament. That said, this exemplifies the underlying themes and purpose of the tournament: sportsmanship and fair play. To work together to overcome a common problem. It is a strong message that can only work to better the relationship between the three schools participating in the tournament and beyond.

“After a quick conference among ourselves, and reviewing the events which we have just witnessed, it has been decided that we award forty-six out of fifty points for all four champions, and congratulate all of them on a job well done. The next and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June, and they will be notified a month in advance as to what to expect. I thank all of you for coming out today and supporting the champions.” He cancelled the amplification charm.

“Mr. Bagman?”

“Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?”

“Is there anything in the rules that says I have to stay here until the task?”

“No, nothing officially. Why would you ask?”

“I won't be in England for the next while. But you say sometime in May we need to be here.”

“Yes, exactly. The twenty-fourth of May you'll need to be around to be briefed on the final task. However if you do need to be away, I'm sure your fellow champions can fill you in.”

“Thank you sir. I think returning for a few hours won't be a problem.”

“Harry, I must insist--”

WHACK! The headmaster didn't see it coming, as Tommy landed a crushing upper cut that sent the old man flying—his world had gone dark long before he hit the ground. The crowd fell deathly quiet, and more than a dozen wands were drawn. Harry drew his wand in an instant, an orange glow forming in the opposite hand.

“Stand down or join him,” Harry hissed.

“Harry, you can't just... Merlin...” Cedric was nearly speechless.

“That man has taken way too many liberties lately. Guys, i need your support here.”

Viktor readily agreed, turning his wand toward Dumbledore and those clearly on his side. His friend quickly joined him. Cedric was a little slower, but reluctantly agreed. Dumbledore had done no good toward Harry. Fleur was last, and perhaps it was out of pressure, but... what was the right thing here?

The standoff lasted for several minutes, until a moderately-sized boat arrived to collect everyone and take them to shore. Madam Pomfrey was fussing over the injured headmaster, while Harry was shouting in her ear.

“How could you? You used his trust to lure him away from us! How does that make you feel, madam healer?! I swear to the Gods, I'll _never_ trust you again.”

“Harry, it's not doing much good to yell at her,” Justin said, “Bet you anything Dumbledore put her under some sort of a compulsion charm.”

“I... I guess.”

“It's done. Drop it,” said Tommy, “No sense in getting wound up about it, it won't do any good.” He messaged his sore hand.

“Here,” Justin offered, taking out his wand. Tommy held out his hand, and Justin cast a healing charm on it.

“Well, if anything, it was Patronus-worthy,” said Harry, “Gods, you got him good. It'll give him something to think about, I know that much.”

“You shouldn't have hit him though,” said Justin, “He'll make it a personal mission to deal out some sort of revenge. And you have to know, he's not an ordinary wizard.”

“I don't really give a shit. This place is full of lies.”

He spat on the floor of the boat.

“I don't like lies, I sure as hell don't like this shit either. Hope he spends a month in the hospital. Make him think next time he uses someone for a tool.”

“Or bait,” Harry muttered. He shivered. “He could have taken Mazhe. Or Justin. _Tahrodiis mey!(1)_ How dare he!”

“Thing is, he couldn't,” said Justin, “With Tommy, he had an excuse, and really, we sort of failed too. The group security policy needs to apply to all of us. None of us can be alone on the Hogwarts grounds. Ever.”

“Won't matter after today anyway. Let's just meet with the others on shore, and we can get back to the Ragnar,” Harry decided.

“You still planning to have a party tonight?” Cedric asked.

“Yes. And you guys are still all invited.”

As soon as the boat beached itself, Harry was pulled into a tight embrace courtesy of a brown-haired witch.

“Air... Hermione.”

“Oh, Harry! And... oh Merlin, you were all amazing!”

“Thanks. But... Gods... that was so messed up.”

Harry climbed out of the boat.

“Guys... I won't be coming back to Hogwarts. After this... I can't really blame Madam Pomfrey—Justin's right. But I still can't trust anyone here.”

“Us too?” Ron asked, looking hurt.

“In a way, yes. Though not by your own doing. Without Dumbledore, I would trust you guys explicitly. Thing is, he's a powerful wizard, not afraid to do just about anything to get what he wants. I can't prove it, but... I bet a bag full of galleons he cast some sort of charm on Madam Pomfrey. She summoned Tommy to the hospital wing—I mean, you guys were there when Professor McGonagall approached us yesterday. Sometime after that, well... who knows?”

“So you're going back to Skyrim?” Hermione guessed.

“I don't know. The Ragnar is pretty comfortable, and so I might just stick around.”

“As far as I know, no matter what you decide to do, Harry, the Ragnar's staying put until further notice,” said Justin.

“Good to know. It means that you guys can come visit now and then.”

“Well, one good thing—at least for Dumbledore... our soldiers will leave the school,” Brandon said. Harry looked at him a moment, but turned his attention back to Tommy.

“You... you okay?”

“Still cold. Look, let's just get back to the boat an' I can go fall in the tub for an hour.”

“I'm sorry he did this to you.” Harry touched him on the shoulder. “'specially after all the other shit you've had to deal with.”

“Not your fault. Never was.” Tommy gripped Harry's hand and plucked it away, but pulled him into a tight hug. “Not your fault.”

That evening, while the three schools once again packed into the Ragnar's Virtual Projection Room to celebrate the conclusion of the second task, Albus Dumbledore lay on a bed in the hospital wing, while Madam Pomfrey dumped another dose of Skele-gro down his throat.

Tom Conlon had cleaned his clock. That was an absolute fact. Dumbledore couldn't remember anything past his leaving the Great Hall to attend the second task. The punch had come out of nowhere, shattering his jaw and giving him a concussion. It wasn't his finest hour, and if he truly thought about it, it was really only his fault.

Tommy was a Muggle, but from what the headmaster had been able to learn, he was dangerous. _Former military_ dangerous. He was not an individual to be taken lightly—none of Harry's circle were, for that matter. They all had some skill set to offer, magical or otherwise. The information the headmaster had on him was graphic enough. Stills from a Muggle video on the internet had attested to that.

The entire group Harry surrounded himself with was a grave concern. As long as he was surrounded by those, the boy was virtually untouchable. And, without further dirt on any of them, there wasn't a whole lot that could be done. Dumbledore just had to be patient. A way would open up. It always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry and his circle retreat back to Skyrim until the third task; a new addition to the College is a source of unwanted complications; and the third task of the tournament has some expected, and not-so-expected results._   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: (1) Tahrodiis mey –treacherous fool_


	14. The Third Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and his circle retreat back to Skyrim until the third task; a new addition to the College is a source of unwanted complications; and the third task of the tournament has some expected, and not-so-expected results.

**14\. THE THIRD TASK**

**21 February – 24 June, 2005**

* * *

“Why am I not surprised to find you in here?”

Harry set the weights back on their cradle, and sat up, finding Mazhe walking toward him. A quick glance at the wall clock told him it was just after 4 am—he had been in the Ragnar's athletic centre for the past two hours, trying to sort out the emotional mess left behind by the second task.

“Couldn't sleep.”

“After yesterday, it doesn't surprise me in the least. This world, it truly has rather disjointed logic. If not for you and your friends, I would not wish to be here.”

“I don't blame you, Mazhe. Believe me, when my job here is done, I'm returning to Skyrim, and not coming back here—ever. Your world is where I grew up. Things make more sense there than here. And... after yesterday... bloody hell.”

“Tommy?”

“Just... That meddling old codger could've taken you just as easily... or Justin. He took Tommy just because he was an easy target—though you know that already, right?”

Mazhe gave a slow nod and frowned.

“The guy's still shattered emotionally, right? So to be twisted and used like that... just... gods. Dumbledore's lucky Tommy didn't outright kill him yesterday.”

“I think he realized that would have only made things much more difficult for all of us. He does have some level of control, Harry.”

“I... yeah, I guess.”

“You're worried about him.”

“Of COURSE I'm worried about him, Mazhe! He's only been with us for a few months, but... he might as well have been here from the beginning. And yesterday... when I realized what had happened... gods... I felt like someone had dropped a stone into the pit of my stomach.”

“Ah. I see.”

Mazhe smiled and put a hand on his best friend's shoulder.

“My little brother's growing up.”

Harry scowled and wiped his brow with a nearby towel.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Harry. You're fourteen and a half. You're getting to the stage where, uh, relationships start to have different meaning. I was just a little older than you when I started to... well... you know of Asbjorn?”

“Balimund's apprentice,” Harry answered, “Yeah, of course. But what's that got to do with... well...”

“You remember we were in the orphanage together?”

“Sure.”

“We, uh, well, explored each other.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “When? But... what does that have to do with—no. NO! I... I'm not _bent!_ ”

“By no means am I insinuating that you are. It's something we each have to figure out for ourselves. And really, I'm probably not the best person for covering the—how is it phrased here... _birds and the bees_ , I guess.”

Harry felt ill. This was most definitely not the sort of topic he'd planned on discussing with his best friend.

“Let me ask you this. When you are in his company, how do you feel?”

“Tommy's?”

“Who else?”

“I... no different than if it were Justin... or you.”

“You're kidding yourself. Your body language betrays you, Harry.”

“I just want to keep him safe.”

“Outside the magical world, I have no doubt he would have any issue taking care of himself. But that's beside the point. When the pair of you embraced yesterday—though he initiated it, you held on for dear life. Couple that with the side-long glances you cast his way now and then...”

“I don't have a crush on Tommy!”

“I beg to differ,” Mazhe answered.

“Right. Piss off.”

“It just means you're growing up. I've been there already, and it is perfectly normal. Even in our world.”

“Honestly, even if it _is_ a crush, I don't have time for it. I'm thankful for all of you helping me out, but really... dealing with Voldemort is all that matters right now.”

“The things is, if I remember something healer Ferris said, denying your thoughts and feelings will only cause harm later on.”

“I remember that. But really, I don't know what this is, and I'm... I'm just gonna leave it at that. Besides. Even if I was _bent_ , I strongly doubt Tommy is.”

“I don't think _he_ knows what he is at this point. To lose so much in the blink of an eye. Gods, I know all too well what it feels like. It took me nearly a year to get things sorted again. I barely said a word in that time. Of course, old Grelod didn't make things any easier.

“I think he's purely driven by his purpose here—helping you--us--out. You're his only focus right now.”

“I guess I sort of know that. I mean, the very little he's told me, his life hasn't been all that great. Then to be dropped in the middle of our world and the skewed politics of it? He's still using at least one calming draught sometime during the day.”

Harry tossed the towel in a nearby bin, and stood up.

“I'm gonna try and get some rest.”

But rest did not come. Mazhe was right in so many ways. The feelings he was experiencing had come right out of left field, though only now was he truly taking stock of them. If he were honest with himself, it had started not long after the accident in potions. The guy looked younger than Mazhe now. Couple that with Harry's emotional maturity, and his legal status, it was hard to say what was the cause.

His self-awareness kicked in, and he felt his face flush. Had Tommy noticed those side-long glances? Last thing Harry needed was to alienate the guy, possibly drive him away. It wouldn't serve anyone any good, as they would be down a trainer, and a friend—something he would _sorely miss_. Harry again felt his face get warm, and he had to admit it. Just perhaps, Tommy was quite fit, was he not?

* * *

Dumbledore returned to his office later that morning. It had been a rather painful night in the hospital wing, but the headmaster's jaw was as good as new—or as good as one could hope, given he was past a hundred and fifty years old. Madam Pomfrey had performed a few cursory examinations in addition, as well as asking a few very pointed questions, to establish just how much memory loss the headmaster had suffered. To his luck, he was only missing a few hours' worth—the contents of his short-term memory, and nothing more. At worst, it had been a rather painful lesson that he should not underestimate what Muggles were capable of. Nevertheless, there was always more than one way to skin a kneazle.

He gave his customary hellos to the numerous portraits in the room, then took a seat at his desk, noting a sealed letter waiting for his attention. No surprise, it bore the seal of the Commonwealth of Valicadia. He didn't have to guess what the contents were, but opened it anyway.

 

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_You have gone too far. This is our notice that Harry Potter will not be returning to Hogwarts again this year except for official, mandatory events of the Triwizard tournament. This also serves as official notice that you are to have no contact with Thomas Riordan (nee Conlon), or Justin Fraser, without a third party present of our choosing. The notice of non-contact with regard to Harry Potter is most definitely still in place, though we are sure this needed not be said._

_With due respect,_

(A signature was scrawled here)

_A. Sampson, Crown Attorney's office, Commonwealth of Valicadia_

(A second signature was scrawled here)

_Abagaile Wentworth,_

_Attorney General, Commonwealth of Valicadia_

 

It was only natural the Commonwealth would react in such a way. And, once again, they had reacted by imposing a no-contact order. There had already been one warning from the ICW with regard to the no-contact order covering Harry. It would likely be short order for another warning, or worse. From his few contacts within the ICW, there were rumblings about opening an international enquiry into the business at Hogwarts. Dumbledore knew he would never survive that sort of scrutiny.

Dumbledore plucked a lemon drop out of the candy dish, and popped it into his mouth. The actions of the Commonwealth were a nuisance, that was true. However, if what he was hearing from his contacts there was correct, a few nasty truths were going to come out within the next few months. As it stood, Harry clearly saw them as lily-white, capable of doing no wrong. Perhaps, so did that little bastard who busted his jaw yesterday. The truth would hurt far worse, and then, perhaps, the boy-who-lived would come back to reality.

The terrorist attacks within the Commonwealth's own borders had came as a bit of a surprise as well, and carefully placed enquiries had turned up a rather interesting bit of information. Under the right circumstances, the Commonwealth could be dealt with in a much more permanent manner. They were outside of the control of the ICW, posing a risk to the Wizarding community at large. Even a large portion of the international body agreed on that fact. So, if there were a way to eliminate that threat, then so be it. After all, it was for the _greater good_.

* * *

The next few days saw Harry reestablish his schedule back in Skyrim. He began teaching Novice Destruction at the College, and so now he only had an hour for potions on Tuesday. He continued teaching his Novice Alteration class on Fridays, but otherwise retained his fourth year class schedule. He was too far along in the year to throw it all away.

Equally, their morning training schedule hadn't changed either. Up at 5 am, something quick to eat, then it was off to the Ragnar's Virtual Projection Room where they worked on fitness training until 7 am. They got cleaned up, had a larger breakfast, and then it was back to the College (or Riften, depending on the schedule).

From there, things fell into an easy routine, as time and distance pushed away the unpleasantness of the fall and winter. Being at the College most of the time and back amongst friends did wonders for Harry, raising his spirits considerably. Tommy noticed the change the most, being the newest member of the circle, but he also understood. Hogwarts was rife with tension.

* * *

_Tuesday, 8 March, 2005 / Tirdas, 8 First Seed, 4E200_

As Harry stepped into the Hall of the Elements, on his way to teach his afternoon class, he found the Arch-mage talking with an Altmer wearing Thalmor robes. Although the Arch-mage was doing his best to be polite, his body language betrayed him. He loathed the individual in his company. The Altmer seemed to regard Harry a moment.

“This is Harry Potter,” Savos introduced, “He is one of our youngest, but brightest students. Harry, this is Ancano, he will be joining us in an advisory capacity for the next while.”

“Oh. I see,” said Harry, wishing to be polite, “Err, welcome, sir.” Between Mazhe, and a few others at the College, he already knew exactly what the Thalmor were all about.

“Tell me, how long have you been a student here,” Ancano asked. The way it was said, he practically demanded an answer.

“Well... I don't know why you believe that sort of thing is your business, but, I've been studying here since I was six. Officially, since I was seven.”

“And you live here at the College?”

“Maybe.”

“Do not be rude to your betters, human,” Ancano sneered.

“Excuse me? No, you have no right asking me personal questions, _elf_ ,” Harry hissed right back.

“Gentlemen...”

“I have a class in five minutes. If there are no more questions, I have to go.”

“We will continue this conversation later,” Ancano drawled.

That night, as the haughty elf lay down on his bed, he shot up again, and let out a yelp. It felt like a thousand sharp quills had poked him—hard. He cursed under his breath, and examined his bed, but found nothing wrong with it. A figment of the imagination, then?

He went to lay down again, and once again, it was as if... he had laid down on a bed of sharp quills. He flew from his bed as if his pants were alight. Definitely not a figment of the imagination, then. Feeling the bed with his hand, he could feel nothing there that shouldn't be. Then how was this happening? After several more tries, he gave up, resigned to sleeping on the floor of his quarters. It was humiliating.

The following morning, he asked the Arch-mage to try the bed and see if the same thing happened. The Arch-mage was doubtful of the story, but tried the bed. It was even more humiliating, as he could find no fault with the bed, and in simple terms told the Thalmor agent to stop wasting his time.

* * *

Over the next week, the Altmer experienced a few other forms of humiliation. Perhaps the worst was the instance where his clothes would vanish the moment he left his rooms. It so happened that Harry, Justin, and Tommy were on their way down from the upper floor of the building on one particular occasion. Harry stopped dead, and Tommy ran into the back of him.

“What?”

“Just...” Harry had to suppress a giggle.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Tommy muttered. Justin, although silent, was also a little shocked at the sight.

“Crazy person... something must be wrong with its head, to strut around like that,” J'zargo muttered.

He had come out of his own room, and was equally surprised by the display. He paused a moment, before disappearing down the stairs.

“You... meddling boy,” Ancano cursed, his junk swinging in the wind for all to see, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, “I know you did this.”

“How about you prove it, Ancano. Meanwhile, do us all a favour and put something on. You might scare people walking around like that,” Harry smirked.

Ancano stood there, fuming a moment, before storming back into his rooms, slamming the door behind him.

“Y'know, one of these days he's gonna go off like a firecracker, and it ain't gonna be pretty,” Justin laughed.

“Oh, but it will be,” Harry smirked, “Sirius sent me some Peruvian itching powder last night.”

“Shit, Harry. I'll remember not to get on your bad side,” said Tommy.

“You guys? Never. You're my circle, remember? People _outside_ my circle, on the other hand? Ancano stepped on my dick nerve.”

“And when will his punishment end?” Justin wondered.

“Haven't decided yet. Maybe when he stops asking me personal questions. He's not my friend, and at this point, he never will be. He's an arse and a prick who wants to stick his overly large nose where it doesn't belong.”

* * *

_13 First Seed_

“Excellent. Well done,” said Mazhe, peering over Tommy's shoulder. They were all gathered in a now unused room in the Hall of Attainment, which had then been set up as a potions lab. Mazhe had been teaching Tommy alchemy off and on, and the guy was finally starting to catch on to the nuances that came with the craft.

Harry, meanwhile, was busy with his latest potions assignment—his last assignment had earned an 'Acceptable', but Snape had still been rather caustic—though nothing was new on that front.

The door to the room burst open, and Ancano framed the doorway, looking furious. His clothes and his hair were now a variety of rather obnoxious colours.

“You've gone too far, boy!”

“Is that so? In doing what, exactly?” Harry asked, turning to face the elf.

“You're responsible for this, I KNOW it and I demand you cease!”

“I'm only fourteen. I strongly doubt I could pull off something as... _colourful_... as that, but I certainly applaud their effort.”

KAWHACK! The icy spear missed Harry by inches. He responded sending a fireball at the Altmer's face, which also missed by inches. Mazhe made to join in, but Harry waved him off.

“Stay out of it, it's between him and I,” Harry said, drawing his wand. He was again forced to duck a yellow blast which he did not recognize. He responded sending a fear spell and a concussion hex—the fear spell missed, but the concussion hex found its mark, and Ancano collapsed to the floor, dazed and confused.

Harry crossed the floor and crouched down beside him.

“I don't care if the _Aldmeri Dominion_ sent you here. My business is my business. This is your first and only warning. Stay away from me and my friends, or next time you will suffer something far more unpleasant. Now PISS OFF.”

* * *

_May 24, 2005 / 24 Second Seed, 4E200_

The missive had arrived by owl that morning as they were having breakfast in their suite aboard the Ragnar. The details regarding the third task of the tournament would be revealed that evening after dinner, down at the Quidditch pitch.

Now, Harry joined the other three champions at the edge of the Quidditch pitch, which had been transformed dramatically. Someone had planted a very twisted-looking garden over every square inch of it. But... not a garden... a maze.

Ludo Bagman was present, and he began to explain the third and final task to everyone: simply get to the centre of the maze, and claim the Triwizard cup. The first one to do so would win the tournament and its prize, one thousand galleons. The maze, of course, would only be part of the equation, however. It would also be populated with numerous obstacles they would need to get by or get around.

Back on board the Ragnar, Harry related the details to the others.

“Can't be any worse than the second task, then,” said Mazhe.

“I think it could be every bit as dangerous,” said Justin, “Shit, they could put anything in there. He said twenty feet, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“From here on out, until the start of the task, no one from Hogwarts will be permitted aboard the ship, and all incoming correspondence will be checked,” said Brandon, “We don't want a repeat of the second task.”

“I don't think they'll be taking hostages this time, but... yeah, good thinking. The mail thing should've been done from the beginning though.”

“I'm almost tempted to have the rest of you to wait here until the task is finished,” said Brandon, “Don't give them an opportunity and all that.”

“No. We'll be joining Harry's Hogwarts friends in the stands,” said Justin, “I think it would be a little late to pull something once the task gets started.”

“Fair enough. We'll be posting lots of extra security around the maze as it is. Ludo Bagman approached the ministry of Defence a few days ago.”

Harry let out a snort. “Find that rather amusing. Considering the Ministry has its own Auror department, they readily accept help from a foreign country.”

“Oh, the Minister for Defence found that rather amusing, too—not that he said so in the presence of the English ministry and all,” said Brandon, with a laugh. “They'll learn eventually.”

“At least I see an end in sight,” said Harry, “Then I can put all of this behind me. Facing a dragon... one of my best friends put in terrible danger... Forgive me if I get piss-drunk come the end of it.”

“Uh, legal age or not, I think Will and Alice might have a few things to say about that, Harry,” said Justin, shaking his head.

“Vekel can probably help you out there,” Mazhe smirked.

“I'm sure he can. Gods, he's put you into a stupor more than a few times,” Harry grinned.

“He's put the whole Flagon under, I think.”

“For real?” Tommy was instantly interested.

“Y'know, if you're interested in some especially exotic concoctions, I should hook you up with Talen-jai. His creations will make you forget who you are for a week,” said Mazhe, with an evil grin.

“No way, his stuff'll give you brain damage,” said Harry, shaking his head.

Mazhe shrugged. “No different than Vekel.”

“Whose shit is stronger?” Tommy asked.

“About equal, I think,” said Mazhe, “Why?”

“You can send shit by owl, right? I might send Dumbledore a nice present.”

“My friend, you are truly demented,” Mazhe smirked, “Harry's hangover cures don't work on most of them.”

“Good.” Tommy smiled evilly.

Harry could only grin madly. 'Dismiss the ingenuity of Muggles at your peril, Dumbledore,' he thought.

“Might land him in St. Mungo's for a few nights. 'course, we'll have to put it in something. It's common knowledge he loves Muggle sweets.”

“Maybe we should be talking to the twins then,” Mazhe suggested, “They're the masters when it comes to that sort of thing, am I right?”

“He does love his tea, why not just slip it into his tea?” Harry suggested, a nasty smirk crossing his face, “We could enlist the help of the house elves. Dobby would help there.”

As he lay in bed, thinking over the events of the evening, he got to thinking about the first task, and his lengthy conversation with the dragon. With all that had been going on, he'd completely forgotten about it. Being able to talk to a dragon was unheard of in his own world. And he thought speaking parseltongue was rare!

Perhaps he might ask Tolfdir or the Arch-mage about it. Speaking the dragon tongue was rare in Skyrim, but not unheard of... he had several books on the language as it was.

More important, was a word the dragon had mentioned several times: _Dovahkiin_ —Dragonborn. He had pressed the dragon about what it meant, but she had avoided giving an answer. What was so special about it? Tomorrow, then. He would ask Tolfdir. He finally pushed those thoughts aside, and tried to relax.

The following morning, he sought out Tolfdir as soon as he returned to the College, and related the events of the first task of the tournament.

“You actually spoke to a dragon?” Tolfdir was astounded. “It has been many, many years, since someone has been able to do so. How easily are you learning the words?”

“Difficult. I was able to greet the dragon, and say a few words, but she switched to... she called it the common language.”

“A she? The dragon was female?” Tolfdir leaned forward in his seat.

“Yeah.”

“I only have a limited understanding of the dragon lore, but from what I have read or heard, the dragons here were always male.”

“How were they born, then?”

“Once again, it's something not known. It is said that perhaps Akatosh himself created them. But in your world, they lay eggs?”

“Yeah. Um, about this big...” Harry held his hands apart, roughly about the size of a Quaffle.

“Astounding.”

“One thing she kept mentioning... but I don't know what it means: _Dovahkiin_ , or, Dragonborn.”

“Now that I can tell you about, Harry. A man born with the soul and blood of a dragon. The one they fear, for only a Dragonborn can truly slay a dragon for good, by stealing its soul and its power.”

“But... couldn't a soul gem work just as easily?”

Tolfdir only shook his head. “There are some things who are far too powerful to be captured in such a way. Dragons were truly powerful beings, requiring a truly powerful adversary to defeat it.”

“Are they still around?”

“Thankfully, it has been a long time since a dragon was seen here in Tamriel—the last dating back to the reign of Tiber Septim.”

“Oh. Good. Last thing I need is to encounter something like that.”

Harry thought a moment.

“There's something else. The, uh, incident at the end of Frostfall...”

“When you met Tom?”

“Yes. Something rather strange happened. I... maybe I'd better show you a pensieve memory, rather than try and explain it.”

They returned to Harry's set of rooms, where Harry retrieved his pensieve, and drew out the appropriate memory using his wand.

“Some of the shit that was going on here was unpleasant. Even with Tommy explaining, I still don't get it really. Just watch what Mazhe does.” Harry dropped the memory into a pensive, and the pair put a finger into it.

They returned only a few seconds later.

“Intriguing. You had a small taste of the _Thu-um_. Remarkable.”

“The _Thu-um_? Shout, you mean?”

“Yes. Legend has it, the Dragonborn could harness the power of a shout... words of power. I must stress, this is all legend and conjecture, as it has been a long time since a Dragonborn has walked on Tamriel.”

“Gods... last thing I need, something else that will make me special.”

Tolfdir let out a laugh and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“My boy, I strongly doubt you are Dragonborn. If Mazhe's power is taken into account, between the pair of you, I believe it may be Mazhe who carries the dragon blood.”

“What would it mean if he was?”

“Then there are truly memorable events in the near future, a turning of the age. A Dragonborn only appears for a good reason, a dire need.”

Harry wanted to bang his head on the table. As if he didn't have enough problems back in his own world, not it looked like turmoil was on the way in Skyrim, the place he knew and loved... a place he called home.

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

It was strange. Albus usually came down to the Great Hall for breakfast, and now, half-way through lunch, he had still not made an appearance. Concerned, McGonagall excused herself early, and made her way up to the headmaster's office.

After giving the password and ascending the spiral staircase, she made to knock on the door, but stopped. She could hear the headmaster, and it sounded like... singing? She pushed the door open, and stopped dead at the scene which greeted her.

The lower part of the office was in disarray, and that was putting it mildly. It looked like half the books had been yanked off of their shelves, and several small tables had been overturned, their contents scattered on the floor. If McGonagall had to guess, it looked like there had been a fight there.

She drew her wand and held it firmly in front of her, expecting the worst. “Albus?”

The inner part of the office was just as scattered as the lower part, and the individual of her query was seated at his desk, half-dressed, singing a lewd version of a Weird Sisters tune.

“Albus! Good heavens! Ex... explain yourself!”

“Good ev'nin, M'nerva,” the headmaster sputtered, looking at her with a dazed expression.

“Good evening? It's the middle of the afternoon, now what have you done to yourself?”

“I feel jus' fine, M'nerva.” Dumbledore moved to fix his glasses, and it took several attempts in order to get things right. “I do believe we had a date...”

“Up you get.”

“Will it be my rooms or yours?”

“Albus! Get a hold of yourself!” McGonagall snapped, “We're going to visit Madam Pomfrey. Whether you get there on your own power, that's up to you.”

“I love it when they play rough.”

The deputy headmistress sent Dumbledore a glare that would send first years scattering. Dumbledore tried to stand, but fell backward into his chair, and from there, McGonagall was forced to levitate the very intoxicated headmaster and drag him to the hospital wing in that fashion. It was not one of the headmaster's best moments, considering his transit was observed by more than a few individuals, including students from the visiting schools, and one disguised reporter from the _Daily Prophet_.

If there was any hope of keeping the incident quiet, it was soundly quashed by the rather graphic article adorning the front page of the paper the following morning. The top half of the paper included a rather hazy image of McGonagall levitating a rather animated, poorly dressed headmaster through the halls of the school toward the hospital wing.

 

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: ALCOHOLIC?_

_Suffered poisoning, confined to hospital wing for six days_

_While covering the events of the Triwizard tournament, this reporter has uncovered a truly delicious scandal involving the Hogwarts headmaster. It seems the dear old man may have a vice!_

_It was yesterday afternoon that I observed the deputy headmistress levitating a clearly intoxicated headmaster through the halls of the school, to the hospital wing. Following along closely, I was able to discern that indeed, the headmaster was heavily intoxicated, and suffering from a moderate bout of alcohol poisoning. Madam Pomfrey, the resident medi-witch at Hogwarts, has confined Professor Dumbledore to the hospital wing for nearly a week, while she treats the condition, something not normally encountered by witches and wizards._

_With this incident, this reporter does have to wonder, what other nasty skeletons lie hidden in the headmaster's closet? Further, perhaps it might be time for the ministry to take a more active role in the business at Hogwarts. It is, after all, rather shameful that a foreign body should be doing the business of our own._

_Equally, our children should not be exposed to such outlandish and unacceptable behaviours from those who are supposed to be acting as role models._

_-Rita Skeeter_

 

Harry smirked as he set the paper down.

“Maybe the government will pay a bit more attention to what he's up to.”

“Unlikely, Harry. We know the British Wizarding government isn't all that into change, no matter how much it's needed,” said Justin, idly stirring his coffee, “And even if they did start taking an interest, it would probably bring about changes in the wrong direction, if you get my drift.”

“Yeah, that's true. The English Wizengamot and competence shouldn't be mentioned in the same sentence. It doesn't fit.”

“You can't trust the government anyway,” said Tommy, “Ain't really interested in doing any good and all that shit.”

“I take offence to that,” said Justin, scowling, “We do try and do some good, y'know.”

Tommy shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Pick your poison. Some places are worse than others, right?” Mazhe pointed out, as he spread jam on a slice of toast. “Still better than anarchy.”

“Fair enough.”

“Between the Commonwealth and Wizarding England, I trust the Commonwealth explicitly,” said Harry, firmly, “They haven't done me any wrong. They've done what Wizarding England should have done from the start, back when I lost my mum and dad.”

“Agreed. All right, enough of that talk,” said Mazhe, “Gods... alcohol poisoning though.”

“Fucked him up pretty good. Looks good on him I think,” said Tommy, nastily.

“I believe it might be a long time before he trusts his tea again,” Justin smirked.

“I'll keep this, I think, show it to Vekel next time I'm in the Flagon. He'll get a laugh out of the results,” said Harry, picking up the newspaper.

* * *

_June 24, 2005 / 24 Mid-year, 4E200_

In the short month between Bagman's instructions and this point, the hedges planted on the Quidditch pitch had grown to a towering twenty feet in height. And, like in Bagman's instructions, there were indeed a number of obstacles to get past. Harry had encountered a Blast-ended skewt, a boggart, and a sphinx thus far.

The sphinx had been challenging, giving him a riddle.

“Voiceless, it cries; wingless, it flutters; toothless, bites; mouthless, mutters. What am I?”

“Voiceless... cries,” Harry muttered, thinking over the clue. He had to be careful. Get it wrong, and the sphinx would attack. He asked the sphinx to repeat the clue again.

“Toothless it bites... something... air? No. The wind! The answer is the wind,” Harry said, firmly.

The sphinx smiled broadly, got up and stretched her legs, then moved aside, giving him room to pass.

“ _Just about there, Harry,_ ” came Justin's voice in his earpiece. He had remained aboard the Ragnar, and they were using a large map in the AIC to view the task, and more accurately, Harry's progress. They had not actively instructed him on how to get through the maze, as it was agreed that could be considered cheating. It did not, however, prevent them from giving him encouragement.

“Hold on... Balls, Cedric's ahead of me. He's got it in the bag,” said Harry, although his voice carried that of relief.

It was short-lived, as something large and black emerged from a side path.

“Cedric! Your right!!” Harry bellowed.

He wasn't quick enough, as the spider was on the older boy, snatching him up in its front legs.

“Gods...” No time to produce his wand, he cupped both hands together, a white, frosty glow forming in them. “Sorry, Hagrid.”

KAWHACK! The ice spike unleashed from his hands impacted the hard body of the spider, and it collapsed in a heap, releasing Cedric from its grasp. It was dead.

“Ced? You all right?” Harry closed the distance quickly, and knelt down beside his fellow champion.

“It got me good, Harry. Go on, take it!” He flicked his eyes toward the Triwizard cup, gleaming only twenty yards ahead of them.

“Can you shoot up sparks?”

“Yeah, I reckon so.” Cedric held his wand aloft, and shot a burst of red sparks at the sky. “Go on, I'll be fine.”

“Not until someone comes to rescue you.”

“Already here, Mr. Potter.” Professor Flitwick stood on top of the hedge, looking down on the pair. “Go on, you've nearly got it.”

“Thanks, professor.”

“ _What happened, Harry?_ ” came Justin's concerned voice, while Harry stood up and made for the cup.

“Spider got Cedric, he's being rescued. Everything's okay.” He came to a stop at the pedestal on which rested the Triwizard cup, gleaming in the dim light of dusk.

“Take it Harry!” Cedric called. Professor Flitwick was then on the ground, checking him over for injuries. Harry hesitated, but reached up and grasped the cup... and felt a familiar hook about the naval.

* * *

Next thing Harry knew, he was bound securely to a large statue of some kind, with dozens of grave stones around him. At the centre of the scene, however, was a cauldron large enough to immerse a fully-grown human being inside of it, simmering on a fire.

“Ragnar code four,” Harry whispered.

“ _Copy code four. We're looking for you_ ,” came Justin's reply in his earpiece. He sounded relieved.

“ _Where are you? What can you see?_ ”

“Graveyard. There's a giant cauldron nearby.”

“ _Can you get free?_ ”

“No. Whoever it was they've got me bound—AAAAAAH!!” Harry screamed, as his scar exploded in pain.

“ _Harry!?”_

“ _What's wrong?”_

A chatter of other voices filled his earpiece, but he was in too much agony to respond, as it felt like someone had jabbed a white-hot poker into his scar.

Someone else was speaking now... Wormtail. Harry remembered it from the interrogation over a year earlier. He was speaking to the cauldron... or something in the cauldron. He then turned, and pointed his wand at Harry's feet.

“Bone of father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.”

The tomb Harry was tied to rumbled, and a low, fine dust rose from it, speeding toward the cauldron. The surface of the water in the cauldron broke, scattering bright sparks in all directions, then turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.

"Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master. "

He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. Harry knew exactly what he was about to do, but morbid fascination prevented him from looking away. Wormtail let out a terrible cry as the deadly knife sliced easily through flesh and bone, and there was a sickening 'plop', as the severed hand fell into the cauldron. The vile concoction turned a burning red, casting its evil light across the graveyard.

With agonizing slowness, Wormtail came to stand in front of Harry, the silver dagger now firmly held in his remaining hand.

"B-blood of the enemy . . . forcibly taken .. . you will. . . resurrect your foe."

Harry knew what Wormtail was about to do, but was powerless to prevent it, as the knife penetrated his forearm, drawing a trickle of blood. Dropping the dagger, Wormtail pulled out a small vial, and used it to collect the blood from the wound, then crossed back over to the cauldron, and emptied the vial into it. The liquid instantly turned a brilliant, blinding white, while Wormtail collapsed to the ground, cradling his injured limb.

Harry hoped against hope that perhaps it had gone wrong, but he knew his luck all too well. Terrible things tended to happen in his presence. This was no different, and with a great hiss of steam, a shadowy outline stood up in the cauldron.

“Robe me,” came a high, cold voice.

Wormtail scrambled to collect the black robe laying on the ground a short distance away, and with his good arm, helped the figure to dress. Then, the figure climbed out of the cauldron, all the while staring at Harry. He was whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snakes with slits for nostrils. The face of evil: Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort looked himself over for several minutes, seeming to admire the handiwork of his servant, then drew a wand out of the pocket of his robes. He then demanded Wormtail present his good arm, and Harry could just make out a tattoo burned into the skin, before the Dark Lord touched it with his wand.

“Now we shall see, who is brave enough to return.”

Minutes later, there was the tell-tale sounds of Apparition, and the swishing of cloaks confirmed it, as shadowy figures began to gather around the clearing in the graveyard. Each of them stepped forward, and knelt down, to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, then stood up, allowing the next to repeat the ritual. To Harry, it was nauseating.

Voldemort accused all of them of disloyalty, and cast the torture curse at least twice, but rewarded Wormtail by creating a new hand of silver for him. And then, finally, the Dark Lord turned his attention to Harry.

“Finally ready to acknowledge my presence, Tom?” said Harry, casually. “You should know, the Commonwealth will be here in less than a minute.”

“Then we had best finish our business here. Unbind him and give him back his wand,” Voldemort directed.

“M-master?” Wormtail whimpered.

“I said unbind him!”

Wormtail swished his wand toward Harry, and the binds instantly vanished. He fell to the ground, his scar still throbbing.

“And his wand.”

Wormtail was clearly not sure of the saneness of the idea, but still followed Voldemort's instructions, and handed Harry his wand back.

“I will kill you one day, Wormtail.”

“My master will finish you tonight, Harry.”

“No, I doubt that. Good bye, Wormtail, Tom.” Harry reached into his pocket, and pressed a button on his mobile. He vanished in a blur of limbs.

That action coincided with dozens of noisy pops in all directions. Realizing the danger at once, Voldemort popped away, as did the majority of others, leaving only a scattering of Death Eaters behind. They were either captured or killed, there was no middle ground.

* * *

Harry landed roughly on the floor in his suite aboard the Ragnar, which, naturally given the tournament, was deserted. He hissed as the wound in his forearm flared, but that was nothing compared to the searing pain coming from the scar on his forehead. Voldemort was in a towering rage.

“Guys... safe... back on Ragnar,” Harry managed.

“ _On our way,_ ” came Justin's voice, among others. Harry reached up and switched the earpiece off, then stowed his wand.

“Dobby.”

_Pop_. “Harry Potter sir call for Dobby?”

“Yeah. My stores in my room, can you bring me a calming draught, a pain-relieving potion, and two potions of health?”

“Right away, Harry Potter sir!” Dobby popped away.

So it had begun. Harry knew this event would come eventually, but until this point, it had played out like some bad fiction somewhere. Now, that fiction had become a reality, and the time for games was truly over.

Dobby reappeared, bringing the potions Harry had asked for, and Harry consumed them quickly. The healing potions were from Skyrim, as they healed injuries a lot faster. A single wave of his wand banished the dirt, mud, and blood from his person.

“Is Harry Potter sir needing anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

The excitable elf popped away, but Harry wasn't alone for long, as moments later, the door to the suite opened, and Justin entered, followed closely behind by Mazhe, Tommy, Ron, and Hermione.

“Harry?! Are you all right?” Hermione asked. They were all gravely concerned.

“Considering what just happened, yeah. Voldemort is back. He got his body back.”

“We knew it would happen. Can you draw a pensive memory? The government will want to see it as soon as possible,” said Justin.

“Yeah, sure. Someone have a vial handy?”

“Here.” Justin reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small vial, while Harry touched his wand to his temple, and drew out the appropriate memory. He let it fall into the vial, and put the stopper in it, then passed it back to Justin.

“He used my blood to resurrect himself. There was an enormous cauldron there... Wormtail carried out the ritual.”

“Shit. The Commonwealth will deal with him this time.”

“Not if I get to him first. Kill on site from here on out. I want the bastard dead,” said Harry, dangerously. “He betrayed my parents, and now his actions alone... they put everyone in danger.”

“I'll make the government aware.”

“But... aren't you lowering yourself to their level? Killing him won't solve anything, Harry,” Hermione disagreed.

“And what would you do with him, miss Granger?” Tommy asked, harshly. “He's already been convicted, right?”

“I guess.”

“And whatever joke of a jail they got in your world obviously doesn't work... then you do something more permanent. Have to agree with Harry here.”

Hermione huffed. “It's just not right.”

“No, Hermione! What happened tonight is not right! Even after the plot was uncovered in the fall, this shit still happened. Can't wait to grill Dumbledore about this!”

“The Commonwealth is already preparing a petition to the ICW asking for international charges to be laid—criminal negligence,” said Justin, “Dumbledore knew about the plot and yet still did nothing to prevent it from being executed. You could have DIED, Harry.”

The door to the suite opened, and Captain O'Toole entered, followed by Commander Dawson.

“Mr. Potter?”

“Sir.”

“We just wanted to see you in person, and see if you needed anything.”

“No, sir. Nothing a few healing potions couldn't set to rights.”

“We're all set in the Virtual Projection Room... unless you didn't wish to go on with the party scheduled,” said Commander Dawson.

“Given what just happened—“

“Harry, it's meant for everyone, not just you,” said Mazhe, “Gods, I know you feel out of sorts, but this is likely exactly what you need right now. Besides, it's over. This tournament is done, you're free.”

“Freed from one cage, only to be put in another,” Harry scowled. “Though I knew this was coming... I didn't think it would come this year. It's as if... Dumbledore WANTED things to happen tonight.”

“We can't know that for sure. Just leave it for now, we'll look at things with clear heads tomorrow,” said Justin.

* * *

 

“All right, all right. Never have I ever... stolen money from my parents,” said Justin, and sat back with a smug look on his face.

It was one of those infamous drinking games. Three bottles of Firewhiskey sat at the centre of the table, with one of them nearly empty. Mazhe, Justin, Tommy, Harry, and the other three champions all sat around it. Harry had been somewhat reluctant to participate, but with the others nagging and prompting, he finally gave in, and by this point, he was half-pissed.

The party was winding down at this point, with most of the guests already departed to their respective schools. A few had actually fell asleep on the beach, and members of the crew were seeing to their comfort, providing blankets and pillows.

There were a few groans, and Justin, Harry, Mazhe, and Fleur did not take a drink. There was no question the lot of them were in no shape to make it anywhere at this point.

“It iz my turn, no?” said Fleur, “Never have I ever... worn ze clothes of ze oppozite sex.” She leaned back in her seat. Both Mazhe and Justin groaned and took a drink.

“Really?” Harry grinned.

“Gods, don't ask,” Mazhe muttered, feeling his face flush.

“A play I was in in grade six,” Justin answered, “It was a disguise, see.”

“Right, my turn, I reckon,” said Cedric, giving a wicked grin. He leaned forward. “Never have I ever... kissed a bloke!”

Justin, Harry, Viktor, and Cedric did not drink, and it was the first time Harry saw Tommy reluctant to drink alcohol. He scowled, and finally took his shot. At Mazhe's unasked question, he shot him a dirty look.

“Don't ask.”

“Don't be a sour puss, friend,” Mazhe grinned.

“Let me guess... part of your, uh, experiments with Asbjorn,” Harry laughed.

“About the size of it. And I liked it, too!”

“Too much information, mate,” said Cedric, shaking his head.

“You posed the question.” Harry was still grinning like mad.

“Okay, um... my turn then?” Justin leaned forward. “Never have I ever... snuck out of the house without my parents knowing.” He leaned back, as did Harry and Mazhe.

Harry leaned forward again. “Append that. Guardians count as parents!”

“Shit.” Mazhe took a drink along with the others. He leaned back. “How about we append the rules a bit. You can decline to answer, but you have to accept a dare.”

“I like it. And you have to do it, it's not optional,” Harry agreed.

“My turn then,” said Mazhe. “Never have I ever... been nude in public.”

Viktor scowled and took a shot, as did Justin and Tommy.

“Really?” Harry grinned at Tommy.

“It was on the base when I was still serving, okay?”

“Let me guess... alcohol may have been a factor.” That earned him a rude gesture.

“My turn, then,” said Viktor, leaning forward. “Never haff I ever... taken... err... illegal drugs.” He leaned back, a smug look on his face, while Justin, Tommy, and Mazhe all took a shot. Harry hesitated for a moment, but also took a shot.

“Really?” Viktor arched an eyebrow at Harry.

“In Skyrim, there's something called Skooma. I didn't know what it was, and I'll tell you this. Anything in this world has nothing on what Skooma can do to you.”

“That so?” Tommy immediately looked interested.

“No. You can't try it. The stuff'll give you brain damage, I think.” Harry grinned, and leaned forward. “Never have I ever... touched a bloke's junk.”

“WHAT?!”

“Harry... you can't ask that!” Justin was shocked.

“C'mon guys, drink up!” Harry smirked, leaning back in his seat. Fleur, Justin and Mazhe downed a shot, while Tommy scowled.

“I'll take a dare.”

“You sure you wanna go that route?” Justin smirked.

“Not answering the question,” Tommy said, firmly.

“Right. Since Justin seems to be wanting to do this one...” Harry grinned.

“Excellent.”

“Actually... if I might,” Mazhe smirked. It was one of those looks that usually didn't bode well for anyone.

“Go on.” Justin inclined his head.

“Great. Tommy. You have to... kiss Harry.”

“What?!”

“NO way.” Both Harry and Tommy were shocked.

“Either that or you take a drink.”

“Ze question is, which is ze lesser of two eveels you admit to, mister Riordan,” Fleur giggled.

Tommy huffed. “Just remember, payback's a bitch.” He then grabbed Harry's face with both hands and closed the distance. It was rough, forced, and lasted only a few seconds, but... Gods... Harry felt his face get very warm, and knew his body betrayed his opinion on the matter.

Tommy, too, flushed, now whether this was from embarrassment or something else, that was debatable. He downed a shot, then tried to stand, but his legs appeared to be like rubber, and he collapsed back into his seat.

“I'm done.”

“Same,” Harry decided, leaning back in his seat.

“No fun, Harry,” said Mazhe, “But I'm still in.” There were voiced agreements from around the table.

“Now if I was to rate that, um, snogging session, it rather sucked, Harry.”

“Piss off.”

“Let me show you,” Mazhe cackled, and for the second time in minutes, Harry found himself kissing another boy.

“Ack... Gods... _Mazhe_!” Harry exclaimed, once again feeling his face flush. He was seated in between Mazhe and Tommy, with Justin sitting opposite. Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric had seats to their left.

“I believe Mr. Potter may have liked that,” Justin smirked.

“Right. Fuck off,” he cursed, then muttered, “Snogged by my best mate... seriously wrong...”

As the virtual sky began to brighten, Harry was still awake, if it could be called that, practically crushed in between Mazhe and Tommy. The three of them were all quite muscular, though Tommy had it in the bag when it came to muscle mass.

The game they had been playing ended up taking on a serious tone, although in truth it had been his fault in a way. His final question had been rather shocking, and perhaps shouldn't have been used. His newest friend was forced to admit to something very uncomfortable in public. Given his emotional state was still rather fragile, it could have ended up far more disastrous than it had.

If anything, Tommy had been a good sport about it, but it had clearly left a bad taste in his mouth, hence the immediate exit from the game. Harry had felt bad, and so had joined him in being only an observer, claiming one of the bottles for themselves.

His mind ventured to the other burning topic: the Dark Lord had returned. The simple fact that changed everything now. How would he keep his two non-magical friends safe from that? Once Voldemort learned of them, they would rocket straight to the top of the list of people in danger—not that they weren't in danger now.

Perhaps it might be best to have them remain at the College. Being members of Harry's circle of friends, they were respected there, and with a little explanation, there wouldn't be any difficulty in making sure their needs were taken care of.

NO. That would be like confining them, locking them away. He knew all too well what that felt like, and it was something he would not do to another—particularly to people he called friends.

Sleep finally found him, but it was by no means peaceful. Nightmares of unspeakable horrors befalling those of his circle, and those outside of it filled his head.

It was early afternoon before anyone stirred. Harry awoke to see members of the Ragnar's crew helping people up and toward the door. The sun felt warm on his face, and he extracted a hand to get the time. 2:30 in the afternoon. Justin was still passed out in his seat, as was Viktor, but everyone else had gone... perhaps back to his suite. There had been an agreement that the champions would all meet in his suite before departing the ship, though the original idea was to share breakfast beforehand. Perhaps a late lunch, then.

Harry reached over, and gently squeezed Tommy on the shoulder.

“Time to get up.”

“Huh?”

“It's the middle of the afternoon,” said Harry, also reaching over and giving Mazhe's shoulder a squeeze.

“Yeah, I'm up,” Mazhe muttered. “Gods. I'll need one of your hangover cures, Harry.”

“Got it covered back in our rooms.”

“Fuck. My head...” Tommy muttered, as he attempted to stand. In fact, the three of them were very unsteady on their feet. Harry woke Viktor, who seemed to be faring better, and the quartet slowly and painfully made their way back to the suite.

As expected, the rest of the group were still collected in the suite, with the remains of lunch still set out in the dining room. A collection of potions were also present, much to the appreciation of the late-comers. Tommy practically fell into his seat, and hurriedly snapped up one of the potions, already knowing which was which.

“I had a wonderful time, Harry,” said Fleur, “Thank you for eenviting us.”

“I'm glad you all came. Last night was... fun, for the most part. Considering the future ahead, I think we all need it now and then, don't you agree.”

“Well said,” Cedric agreed. “I still don't understand how this was allowed to happen, though. Professor Dumbledore knew of the Dark Lord's plot and yet still it happened.”

“Questions we're all asking, Mr. Diggory.”

Harry glanced at the doorway, and no surprise, miss Connor and her colleague framed it. “The government is already ramping up security within our own borders, and just so all of you are aware, that most certainly includes here aboard the Ragnar. Come and go privileges are being revoked across the board.”

“Well, we won't be needing to take up space here anymore as it is,” said Harry, “With the tournament over and me returning to Skyrim semi-permanently, and so on.”

“Her majesty has made it very clear that the Ragnar always be open to you, Harry. You can consider this a second home, given it is perhaps one of the most secure places we can offer,” miss Connor explained.

Harry again wanted to bang his head on the table.

“I don't want to be special. Gods... more bending over backwards for me.”

“Even if you don't want it, you have to face the fact that you are an important person, Harry, though not by your own choice,” said Justin, “Now I guess what we need to know, what is the new security protocol?”

“The private floo here has had its access list revoked, save for you four.” Miss Connor pointed to Harry, Tommy, Justin, and Mazhe, respectively. “It cannot be changed unless there's an emergency. No regular Portkeys will work here—though the emergency Portkeys in your mobiles will. Any individual not already cleared by security will be scanned for the Dark Mark, dark curses, glamours, and Polyjuice potion before they are permitted aboard.”

“Funny. I thought that shit would be done anyway,” Tommy said, sarcastically.

“We're moving to a wartime posture, Mr. Riordan. I'm sure you would understand the difference.”

“Fair enough. Still. With Harry here and all...”

“Guess that means it'll be more difficult for people to come visit, then.”

“Harry, I'm sure we can set things up so that can still happen. It wouldn't be fair to keep you away from your friends,” said miss Connor.

“And Harry. Something else that changes. We'll be keeping you company from here on out, even at the College. That's Queen Susan's direct order,” said Brandon. It was rare he joined them inside the suite, choosing to stand outside in the corridor during his shift.

“Great. I'm sure the Arch-mage is gonna love that. Considering he originally only agreed to Justin and I.”

“I strongly doubt he has any trouble having the lot of you around,” said Mazhe, shaking his head. “I think if anything, he's constantly astounded by your magic. It's foreign and all.”

“Still...”

“Just leave it, let us worry about the details, Harry. You just keep at your education and training.”

“Speaking off...” said Viktor, “If it is possible, I vold like to continue.”

“I'd like that a lot. All of you are welcome. I mean, it's getting to high summer back in Skyrim. Lots of places we can do our training outdoors. Lake Honrich is beautiful now that it's not frozen over.”

“It goes without saying, you're all Harry's friends—given what you've all done together this past school year,” said miss Connor. “We'll have to see about getting you clearance to visit here as well as his home in Skyrim.”

“And Sirius and Remus. What of them?” Harry asked.

“We'll likely move them to Skyrim as well, along with Mr. Riordan's nieces.”

“Thank you,” said Tommy, quietly. His features darkened, as he was once again forced to face a terrible reality he found himself in.

“The Commonwealth will also see to your grade ten material, Harry. You're aware level five magic is important?” miss Connor asked.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels, yeah, I know.”

“Good. Though I'm sure miss Wheeler and Mr. Jarvis will be more of a help there. We'll be returning to Trevelyan tomorrow.”

“Right, of course. Thanks for all of your help, I really appreciate it,” said Harry, gratefully.

“It's only right we were here,” said Mr. Sampson, “And should the need arise, we'll be right back here.”

“I hope that's not necessary, but... knowing my track record, we'll be seeing each other again, I'm sure.”

Cedric stood up, and Fleur and Viktor followed suit. “Time to get back, I reckon.”

“Yeah, this is true. Don't want Dumbledore or Madam Maxime or Karkaroff coming down on your heads,” Harry agreed.

“Here. A port key that'll take you back to Hogwarts,” said Mr. Sampson, producing a length of rope.

“Actually. Cedric, do you mind delivering a letter for me?”

“Of course.”

“Just give me a minute.”

Harry got up, and left the room. He returned shortly after, bringing a page of paper and a pen, then hurriedly scrawled out a note.

“This needs to go to Professor Dumbledore, or if not, Professor McGonagall.”

Cedric glanced at the note. “You're not coming back?”

“No. Not as a student.”

“It's truly a shame,” said Cedric, shaking his head, “There are a good many who will miss you, whether you realize it or not.”

Harry blew out a breath and sighed.

“It's likely I haven't seen the back of Hogwarts though. Knowing my luck and the old man's persistence, he'll find some way of dragging me back.”

“Vell. I guess this is good bye, for now,” said Viktor, offering a hand. Harry gladly shook it.

“Officially. Unofficially, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Likewise, Harry.” Cedric also offered a hand.

“It haz been a pleesure, Harry!” said Fleur, and rather than a handshake, it was a kiss on both cheeks from the Beauxbatons champion. And then, the three of them vanished in a blur of limbs.

Harry sat down heavily in the seat beside Tommy. “It's done then.”

“You plan on returning to the College sooner or later?”

“Probably after dinner. I might go die in the shower, then catch some more sleep. Gods... still can't believe...”

“Not all of last night was bad, Harry,” said Mazhe, smirking.

“And you. I so want to hex you.”

Harry faced Tommy.

“I'm sorry for last night. I wasn't thinking.”

“It's all good. Kissing another dude's the least of my worries, I think.”

He reached over and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“And sometimes, you're an open book. I think you wanted to do that for a long time.”

“All right, fine, I surrender,” said Harry, shaking his head, which had now become beet red, “Gods. Fine. I admit it. I think you're quite fit.” It all came out in a rush and he snapped his mouth shut, waiting for the explosion to follow.

“Um...”

“He means good looking,” Justin clarified, “English thing.”

“Right.” Tommy felt his face get hot again. He felt like a fish out of water. “Um...”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean—“

“Trust me. You don't want me. I'm damaged goods, Harry.”

“And I'm not?” Harry let out a hollow laugh. “Granted, my life has been better than it could have been, but really. I think we're all damaged in some way. Orphaned in some way. Think about it. Mazhe... lost his parents before he was ten, survived a brutal orphanage. Me... orphaned before I was two years old, by the nightmare that returned last night. I think Justin's probably the most normal out of the lot of us.”

“Thanks, I think,” said Justin, rolling his eyes.

“Locked ward at St. Mungo's, here we come!” Harry exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air dramatically.

Justin smirked and said, “I've heard it said somewhere... everyone is crazy, it's just that, some people are crazier than others.”

“This is true,” Mazhe agreed.

“I was sane once, but then I got better,” Brandon chimed in.

“Yeah, hanging out with this bunch,” Tommy smirked.

“And you exclude yourself from this lot, do you?” Mazhe grinned.

“Right...”

Harry stood up. “Anyway. I'm going to die in the shower for a while, then I'm catching a nap.”

After taking a long shower and having a short nap, he returned to the common room to find a familiar bird perched on the back of one of the couches, looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, hello, Fawkes,” Harry greeted.

He spotted the rolled up parchment secured to one of his legs. “The old man's got you delivering the post now, does he? You can do better than him you know.”

Fawkes let out a musical call, that to Harry, sounded like laughter.

“C'mon, you know I'm right... meddling old man. Thought you guys are normally bound to light-sided people and all that.”

He was rewarded with another string of musical notes, while he relieved the bird of its burden.

“What's—oh. Hey there, Fawkes,” Justin greeted, stepping into the common room. “What's he doing here?”

“Acting as a lowly post-owl. I was just telling him, he can do better than that.”

“No doubt there. What's the headmaster want now?”

“He's got something to tell me and he needs to do it in person.”

Harry let out a sigh. “Of course he wouldn't let me just walk away. Guys! Come here a sec!”

A half hour later, Harry, Justin, Tommy, Mazhe, Brandon, and Eric were gathered in the headmaster's office. As was the requirement of the no-contact order, Dumbledore had asked Professor McGonagall to be present, knowing that Harry trusted her.

“Harry, I do understand your desire not to return here, and given some of the incidents, I can not find fault in that. However, I ask that you at least allow me the chance to explain a few things,” the headmaster said, nodding toward a pensieve which rested on the corner of his desk.

“I guess I can give you that much,” Harry agreed.

“Thank you. Harry, I'm sure you have to ask, why is it that Voldemort—Tom Riddle—has taken such an interest in you. It all returns to a prophecy which was spoken the summer before you were born.”

Here, Dumbledore tapped the pensive with his wand, and unlike usual viewings, a shadowy figure formed above it, and began to recite the familiar words Harry had heard nearly eight years prior.

As it finished, Harry simply leaned back in his chair. “I already know about the prophecy, Professor. I have since I was eight years old. Will and Alice shared it with me then.”

“The Commonwealth wanted Harry to be aware of his future long before, so he had an ample chance to prepare for it,” Justin picked up, “Professor, how would you have handled this?”

“I would not have shared the prophecy with him then, I can assure you that much.”

“And why not, sir?” Harry asked, “This is my future. I had the RIGHT to know about it... don't I?”

“And to deny you any sort of normal childhood? Harry, you must have time to be a boy, with childhood issues.”

Harry burst out laughing.

“Gods above, you can't be serious. _Normal_ childhood he says.”

Harry laughed again, but this was hollow.

“Professor, I've not ever had a childhood. You remember what I told you about the Dursleys during our meeting at the end of first year? You placing me with them ensured I would NEVER have a normal childhood. Growing up in Skyrim, among people much older than I was, that reinforced it. I'm almost fifteen, but I might as well be twenty or so. Most people pass me off for eighteen or nineteen as it is.”

“Harry, I do truly have many regrets. To see you robbed of your childhood, this is one of them. If there was anything I could do that could undo it, you have to know I would quite willingly do it,” Dumbledore said, sincerity in his voice.

“But you and I both know you can't. We only get one go 'round. My life hasn't been easy, but I know what I've been put on this earth for, and I promise you, sir, I will do the job I've been given... one way or another. The thing is, every day... every time there is some sort of interference on the part of you, the school, or the British magical government, I lose reasons to fight.

“Right now, what truly drives me are my friends... Mazhe, Justin, Tommy... Sirius, Remus... my other friends back in the Commonwealth. I fight to protect a place which stands behind me, willing to place their all in my safety and comfort. I will not fight for a place who brands me a cheat, a liar, and an attention-seeker one moment, a saint and a martyr the next. The people of magical Britain—with a few exceptions—have not _earned_ my help nor my protection.”

Dumbledore leaned forward and steeped his long fingers together, seeming to think for a few moments.

“It is only fair that you feel that way, Harry. In your shoes, perhaps I would feel the same. And I do have to be honest with you, it is likely to get far worse. If you wouldn't mind, I would like to see what happened to you when you left the maze last night.”

“Voldemort's rebirth,” Harry guessed. While Dumbledore collected the memory still in the pensieve, Harry drew out the appropriate memory, and added it to the pensieve.

“Harry... do you mind if I join the headmaster?” Justin asked.

“Sure. Anyone who wants... go ahead. Though the Commonwealth also has a copy of this... I'm sure the Ministry of Justice is looking it over very carefully,” said Harry.

“I'm sure Madam Bones would be very interested in speaking to her Commonwealth counterpart,” said McGonagall.

Harry waited patiently, while just about everyone else took a trip in the pensieve—only Eric remained outside, wanting to keep some level of security. Harry leaned back in his chair, and pulled out a sixth-year Transfiguration textbook out of his satchel. They would likely be gone for a while, and it only made sense to make use of the time.

When people began to return from the pensieve, he marked the page he was reading, and closed the book. He was surprised to suddenly be seized in a bear hug, courtesy of Justin.

“My God, Harry, how... just... you've got more stones than I do.”

“I knew you guys were coming. Or someone was, and that your voices were on the other end,” Harry answered, as they broke apart. That only made way for Mazhe to do the same thing.

“Harry, I always have your back, no matter what.”

Tommy put an arm around Harry's shoulders. “Harry, you gave me something to fight for again—even after all the shit that's happened to me. I'll stand beside you as much as Mazhe will, or Justin.”

They sat back down, though Tommy seemed to be reluctant to move too far away from Harry, appearing to act the role of a big brother. Mazhe had already claimed the seat on Harry's other side.

“Harry, how is it you managed to escape?” Dumbledore asked.

“Emergency Portkey,” Harry answered, “I won't tell you what it is, for obvious reasons. Know that each of us carries one.”

“They can't be taken off of our bodies, and we can't be coerced into removing them,” Justin added, “One of my ideas, actually.”

“Most ingenious. You must have done very well in Charms,” Dumbledore assumed, to which Justin nodded enthusiastically.

“Charms was one of my strongest subjects, actually. I scored an Outstanding on my NEWT.”

“Sir, I have to ask how it was that this managed to take place, even though you were well aware of the plot,” Harry asked, “I went into that maze, expecting a few dangers, but really... to be trapped exactly as it was planned? I almost have to believe you wanted this to happen.”

“Now Harry, I have to take exception to you making such an accusation. I do truly have the safety of everyone in mind, even with the difficulty this tournament presented.”

“How about you answer the question,” said Tommy, glaring at the old wizard.

“I... did not wish for any of this to happen, Mr. Conlon,” Dumbledore answered, sadly.

Harry let out a sigh. “Guess that will have to do. I won't ever get a straight, honest answer out of you, will I? Moving on then.”

He reached into his satchel, and drew out the diary Justin had collected out of Ginny's cauldron the summer before second year.

“What do you know about soul containers, professor?”

“Merlin...” The look on Dumbledore's face betrayed his shock, as he handled the book. “Where did you get this?”

“Lucius Malfoy put it in Ginny Weasley's cauldron the summer before second year. Sir, I warned you, Malfoy is dangerous, and now I know exactly where he gets it from. His father's a twisted, evil man... and this... this journal...”

“It had a piece of Voldemort's soul in it,” Mazhe finished.

“And it no longer does, I am assuming,” said Dumbledore, thumbing through the pages of the book.

“A mage in Morthal helped us capture the soul in one of these,” Mazhe explained, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a dark-looking gem. “This is called a soul gem. There is a kind of magic that can catch the soul of a living thing when it dies, trapping it in one of these.”

“And what happens to the soul?” McGonagall asked.

“As the mage explained to us, there are a few theories, but the more widely accepted version is that it ends up in the Soul Cairn, a plane of Oblivion. A very unpleasant place.”

“Is it possible for a soul to escape from there?” Dumbledore asked.

“As far as I know, no, it's impossible. One-way trip,” Mazhe answered.

“Given he has still managed to return, it is safe to conclude he has created more than one soul container—something called a Horcrux here,” said Dumbledore. Inwardly, he was frustrated, having to reveal details with far too many ears present, including his deputy headmistress. He summoned a book from one of the shelves. 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' was stencilled on its spine.

“How many do you figure?” Tommy asked.

“I cannot be certain. But I will tell you, it would be a significant number. Something that meant power to him.”

“Three, or seven,” said Mazhe, “Both numbers are significant magically.”

Harry blew out a breath. “Knowing Voldemort, he likely made seven. Gods, as if this isn't difficult as it is.”

“Harry. I think they're irrelevant. We cast soul trap on the bastard, then blast him with every bit of destructive magic we've got. He dies, his soul gets snared in one of these--” Mazhe held up the black soul gem, “--and it's game over for Mr. Riddle. An eternity trapped in the Soul Cairn.”

“Perhaps it might be worth trying. I need not warn all of you the danger involved in confronting Riddle. Even in the state he may be in now, he is a most formidable wizard,” Dumbledore warned.

“I wouldn't expect anything less, Professor,” said Justin, “And you should know, Harry has the full support of the Crown on this. We'll provide whatever he needs to get the job done.”

“Minister Fudge will not like intrusions of a foreign government, Mr. Fraser.”

“It won't matter what he wants. Quite honestly, if the situation truly requires it, we won't hesitate to invade and occupy.”

“Really?” Harry was surprised, only now just hearing this.

“There was a message sent out to all departments this morning. The Commonwealth is moving into a wartime posture.”

“That is a very grave statement, Mr. Fraser,” said McGonagall, “The Commonwealth of Valicadia would go to war with us?”

“If that is required, then yes, that is what we will do, ma'am,” said Brandon, from his position behind the seated guests, “Our fight would only be with those who take up arms against the innocent. Quite honestly, I hope it doesn't come down to that. War is an ugly thing, no matter its reasoning. In war, there are really no winners, only losers.”

Tommy nodded slowly in agreement.

Dumbledore let out a sigh, seeing there was no point in trying to argue here. Anything he could say would not reach the right ears at this point. He frowned mentally, seeing how close Harry and Tommy were sitting. That was a new development. Who was protecting who in this case? Ah... the Muggle, of course. He knew nothing about what was truly going on. That would change in the future, it was the way of it.

Dumbledore was still in discussions with the American Department of Magic, pulling in a few favours. A Muggle terrorist whispering in the ear of the boy-who-lived? No, they wouldn't like that too much. If things worked out as planned, the Commonwealth would be getting a visit from the Americans in the near future regarding their fugitive Muggle. It was all for the _greater good_ , right?

He turned his attention back to the group. “I daresay I already know the answer, but I truly wish you would consider continuing to attend Hogwarts, Harry.”

“How about no. Maybe I should spell it out for you. N. O. _No_. I will not be returning in Hearthfire. Period,” said Harry, forcefully, “What part of 'no' don't you get, sir?”

“After everything that's went on this past year? Really I don't blame 'im,” said Tommy, “Way too much shit goin' on here. And you want him to come back? You're fucking crazy old man.”

“Mr. Riordan...” McGonagall pursed her lips. “Please refrain from such dreadful language.”

“It is truly regrettable you have come to that decision, Harry, but I do understand your reasoning. But know this: Hogwarts will always be here for you, no matter what capacity you return in.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“If there is nothing further you wish to ask, I'll let you get back to the Ragnar.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Dumbledore watched as the large group left the office. Things were very difficult indeed, and if the Commonwealth went through with their threat, it would be far worse. To bring Harry back to the school in September... he would have to tread very carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry and his friends are called to testify at a government inquiry into the incident at Boardwalk Hall the previous fall; Harry celebrates his fifteenth birthday and receives an awesome present from his friends; Harry receives his Appirition license; and an incident aboard the Ragnar once again thrusts Harry into the spotlight._


	15. Evolution of the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and his friends are called to testify at a government inquiry into the incident at Boardwalk Hall the previous fall; Harry celebrates his fifteenth birthday and receives an awesome present from his friends; Harry receives his Appirition license; and an incident aboard the Ragnar once again thrusts Harry into the spotlight.

**15\. EVOLUTION OF THE TRUTH**

**June 28 – August 31, 2005**

* * *

_June 28, 2005_

The day had began at the University of Erwin, where Justin officially received his science Doctorate. He could have attended commencement ceremonies in January, but the Anthrax attack on New Year's Day had put the brakes on that—as it had interrupted a great many events across the Commonwealth. It was only natural that Harry, Mazhe, and Tommy were present, as was Justin's immediate family.

After an official reception at the University, there was a more private party held aboard the Ragnar. There, Justin more properly introduced his family to Harry and his friends. There had been a brief introduction before the ceremony, but very little time for any conversation. Though Harry was certainly well-looked after, he was somewhat envious of Justin, given he had real parents who had been there every step of the way.

“What are your plans once you finish school, Mr. Potter?” Mr. Fraser asked.

“Uh, really haven't given it a lot of thought, sir... though it's likely I'll probably take up teaching full-time at the College.”

“The College of Winterhold,” Mrs. Fraser guessed, to which Harry gave a nod.

“Yeah, exactly. As much as I love the Commonwealth—they've given me great support since I was rescued from my miserable family—this world is not for me. I... you know what I'm destined to do? Once that's done, there will be no reason for me to stay here.”

“A shame you feel that way, Mr. Potter,” said Mr. Fraser, “From what Justin tells us, you would make a fine teacher here. I suspect Sir Malcolm Davis Institute would likely do just about anything to get you on board as a teacher.”

“No doubt they could. But I grew up in Skyrim. It's my home, and really... I should have stayed there, rather than trying out Hogwarts.”

“Even if it meant you not meeting Ron and Hermione?” Mazhe asked. He had been close to the group, sipping a goblet of Colovian Brandy—a number of beverages from Tamriel were stocked in the liquor cabinet in the conference room.

“Yeah. Even so,” Harry answered. “I mean, really. My attending Hogwarts... sort of trapped all of them there too, with that stupid law the Ministry passed. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were livid when they were informed about it.”

“As would we, had that sort of thing been forced on us,” Mr. Fraser agreed.

“And you're choosing to ignore the law and not return in September,” his wife followed up by saying.

“As I'd intended to do last year. Unfortunately, the tournament decided otherwise. I'm half of mind to swear a magically-binding oath to never set foot in Hogwarts ever again.”

“That sort of magic is impossible, Harry,” said Justin, shaking his head, “And even if it was, you'd be cutting yourself off from the few friends you have made there.”

“Point taken. As it stands, a mail ward's been set up now on my person that will return any mail sent out from Hogwarts, with the exception of a few people. It's really a shame it's reached that point, but... really. I'm not Albus bloody Dumbledore's plaything.”

“Language, Harry.”

Justin's scolding was answered with a rude gesture.

* * *

_July 4, 2005_

_Queen's High Court, Trevelyan_

To Tommy, the room resembled any courtroom in the non-magical world, with a high bench, behind which sat several individuals in suits. A single female judge was in charge of the proceeding, sitting in a slightly higher-elevated box, while two people sat in boxes below that, with computer screens in front of them.

“Mr. Riordan. Thank you for appearing before this enquiry. You understand that you are now under oath,” said one of the individuals on the raised bench.

“I do.”

“You are presently a part of the group working with Harry Potter.”

“Yes sir.”

“We'll put the Ragnar as his current address,” said a woman to the man's right.

“So noted,” said the judge.

“Mr. Riordan, you are aware of the purpose of this enquiry?”

“Yes sir.”

“We understand the events we are asking you to recall are tragic and painful, but we must understand truly what took place on the night of October 31 of 2004.”

“I dunno what you expect me to tell you. When stuff started happening, all I was concerned about was my brother.”

“You are aware of how a pensieve works?” questioned the woman.

“I do. Harry... Mr. Potter uses one enough, ma'am.”

“Given you are not magical, we will have to assist you, but you can most certainly provide your memory of the events.”

“Yeah. That would be easier,” Tommy agreed.

“The memory will be displayed for the entire panel, you must understand. We may stop the memory and ask you questions relevant to what is being shown.”

Tommy was clearly uncomfortable with this idea, but reluctantly nodded. A crimson-robed Auror crossed the room, bringing with him a clay bowl filled with shimmering liquid.

“You've seen us draw memories before, right?” Harry whispered, “Just think of what you want to share, he'll do the rest. Just from when you first noticed something was wrong.”

Tommy gave another nod, then focused on the events he wanted to share—events he was still having trouble coming to grips with, if he were honest with himself.

“Ready?” The Auror asked. Tommy nodded yet again, and the Auror touched his wand to Tommy's temple, and gently tugged. It had to be one of the strangest sensations the guy had ever felt, as a long strand resembling fine hair was pulled away from his head. The Auror dropped it into the swirling liquid.

“Do you swear that the memory we are about to view is whole, and accurate?”

“I do.”

The Auror tapped the clay bowl three times, then flicked his wand at a white section of the side wall. He duplicated that motion on the opposite side, then tapped the bowl again.

It was strange, seeing the event from another person's eyes. Tommy hadn't realized anything was wrong until the blast of purple energy took down two people inside the cage. It ran for only a few seconds when one of the interrogators indicated the memory be stopped. The Auror tapped the bowl once, and the image froze.

“Mr. Riordan, what did you initially think was going on?” asked a woman on the far left.

“At first? Thought it was firecrackers. Then people were dying.”

“Continue.” The Auror tapped the pensieve again, and it resumed, and ran to its conclusion—his loss of consciousness in the corridor.

“Before your contest in the octagon, did you notice anything unusual or out of place?” came the question from the far right side of the bench.

“No. Everything was good, what I remember. No one strange standing around, that kind of thing. But it was crazy, you all gotta understand, right? A place like that, gets hard to spot sh... uh, stuff like that.”

“A fair answer. From your perspective, do you believe the actions on the part of Mr. Potter and his party were appropriate?”

Tommy scowled. “What kind of dumb question was that? I would've been dead without Harry and his friends. 'nuff said.”

“Decorum, please, Mr. Riordan,” the judge scolded.

In the end, his testimony was over and done with within fifteen minutes. Given he was a non-combatant in the incident, and merely an observer, most of the questions were not necessary, covered by the short pensieve memory. It was duplicated, and the original very carefully put back where it belonged.

“Mr. Riordan, thank you very much for appearing before this enquiry today. The Commonwealth reiterates its sorrow and condolences for your tragic loss in October. Those responsible for that loss will be held accountable, one way or another.”

“Thanks. It means a lot, but... action speaks louder than words, am I right?”

“That is a fair statement,” said the judge, “You are excused.”

The pair left the courtroom and returned to the College by floo powder, with Tommy seemingly in a haze. Harry understood. The guy had just been forced to revisit perhaps some of his worst memories, and be asked questions about it.

“Back already?” Justin asked, “Thought you guys were gonna be gone—oh. All right, man?”

“No,” Tommy answered quietly.

“Just a 'sec.” Harry pulled the lid of his trunk open, and pulled out his broom, which had been miniaturized. A tap of the wand restored it to full size.

“C'mon, we're going flying.”

“You've got Ancient Runes in an hour.”

“School's out for the day, Justin. I've got a friend to see to,” Harry answered. Tommy arched an eyebrow. “Seriously. C'mon, we'll take a flight to Riften and back.”

“Don't get shot down,” Brandon smirked, as he took a seat at the table. Harry smirked and made a rude gesture.

“Well? Coming?”

“Sure.” Tommy's heart wasn't into it, but he grabbed his hooded jumper and bomber jacket, then followed Harry.

They climbed the numerous stairs which led to the roof of the dormitory, and there, Harry mounted the broom.

“Right. Climb on behind me. It's more comfortable than it looks,” Harry promised.

“Sure there's room for us both?”

“Done it loads of times. Mazhe's been on with me plenty of times. He has a blast, having grown up here like I did—great,” Harry said, as Tommy climbed on behind him, “Now wrap your arms around my waist—good. Feet up in the stirrups, beside mine. Ready?”

“Go for it.”

They were off like a shot, the ground falling away in an instant, the dormitory resting on the edge of a steep drop down to the water below. Harry felt Tommy momentarily squeeze tighter, likely from the surprise, then relax, as he got used to the sensation. Flying on a broom was a completely different experience, whether one had experienced flight in any form or not.

In under a minute, they had already flown over the village of Winterhold, and were then making a track toward the southeast, rapidly gaining altitude to clear the mountains. Holding the broom with one hand, Harry quickly cast a warming charm on them, as the air was downright cold at that altitude.

“What's that down there?” Tommy pointed to a dramatic statue standing isolated on one of the mountain peaks.

“Mazhe told me it's the shrine to Azura, one of the Daedric deities. Neither of us have been there... Mazhe's a little weary of the Daedric princes, and honestly, so am I, from what he's told me.”

“Right. How many are there?”

“Fifteen or sixteen. Then there's eight or nine divines—Mazhe says nine, and I follow his lead. Err... remember that this is a completely different world than ours. If God existed, I don't think he would exist here.”

“You don't believe in God?”

“For those who believe, no proof is necessary. For those who do not believe, no proof is possible(1),” said Harry. “There is no proof God exists in our world.”

“And here?”

“The rules are a little different. Thing is, blind faith isn't really a part of my world.”

“Nor mine,” Tommy agreed.

The pair fell silent as they made their way south. Over the next few hours, the ground below changed from frozen snow pack, to tundra, and then, a rather barren expanse, with steaming hot springs.

“Area looks volcanic,” said Tommy.

“Gods... never thought of that,” said Harry, slowing down a bit.

They circled around a peak in the middle of the area, then resumed their flight south. Now, the terrain gave way to a mostly conifer mix—pine and spruce trees, as they gained more altitude to clear the escarpment that marked the southern boundary of Eastmarch hold.

At the top of the escarpment, the vegetation changed again, from a hardwood-softwood mix, to a mainly hardwood mix. Popular, birch, and maple trees dominated the geography. They kept the high altitude as they flew over Shor's Stone, and Fort Greenwall, respectively. The fort was a known bandit hangout, and a confrontation with those animals was the last thing Harry wanted at the moment.

It was late afternoon by the time they touched down just outside of Riften, and with a hello to the gate guards, they stepped into the city proper.

“You know a lot of people.” It wasn't a question.

“More or less. I've only been around this city for the past year, but... lots of nice people here. If I wasn't anchored at the College, I would likely move here. Delvin keeps trying to pull me out on a job with him, but... You know what they really do, right?”

“The guild. Uh, yeah, figured that out in about two seconds, Harry. Before I knew the name of the guild.”

“Right. Needless to say, there are a few people who wouldn't be impressed should I actually start doing things for them.”

“Being a little rebellious now and then never hurt anyone.”

Harry smirked. “Mr. Riordan, you're a bad influence.”

They soon found their way into the Ragged Flagon. Vex was nowhere to be seen, but Delvin was seated at his usual table, looking over a few pages of parchment. He looked up.

“Rather strange to find you here today, Harry.”

“We had a rather stressful morning back in my own world, and my friend here needed some air.” Harry glanced at Tommy. “Feeling a bit better now?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Good.”

Harry drew his wand, and tapped his broom once, shrinking it down so he could stow it in his pocket, then grabbed a seat. Tommy shed his jacket, and took the one across from him.

“Bottles of mead, for the pair of you?” Vekel asked from the bar.

“Please.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy agreed. He thought for a moment. “Gonna be dark by the time we get back.”

“After dark, actually. You up to spending the night here?” Harry asked.

“Sure.”

“A change of scenery will be good for us both.”

Harry pulled out his mobile. He was still getting used to it, but considering it was a life-saver only a couple of weeks prior, he saw the benefit of having it. It took him nearly a minute to work through the address book and get the right number.

“ _Harry_?” Came Justin's voice.

“Just letting you guys know, we're in Riften. Gonna spend the night, since I need to be here in the morning anyway.”

“ _Oh. Well... okay, I'll let the others know_.”

“Thanks, mate. I'll see you guys tomorrow.”

There was a pause. “ _I'll Apparate there with Mazhe sometime just before lunch._ ”

“Great. Have a good night.”

“ _Be safe._ ” The connection closed, and Harry clipped the phone back on his belt.

“Find it fascinating you are able to do that,” said Delvin.

“Bloody useful. It was Justin's work, making it all work here.”

“And it would work anywhere in Skyrim?”

“I guess.”

“Mercer might be interested in seeing one of those. They could be beneficial to the Guild.”

“Well, he'd have to talk to Justin, they were his creation, like I said.”

Vekel brought over two bottles of mead. “If you pair are staying, care for something to eat?”

“Sure. The usual then?” Harry glanced at Tommy, who gave a nod. After all, it wasn't the first time they had eaten a meal there.

“All right. It'll take a bit of time.” He walked back over to the bar, and started pulling things out from under it.

“Thank you,” Tommy said, quietly.

“For?”

“Being there with me today.”

“I wouldn't do any less. You're part of us now. And I know if Justin didn't have things going on this morning, he would've been there too. I know that you probably feel like, you're completely alone, but... you're not. You're part of my circle—the few people I trust implicitly.”

“Means a lot.”

“Thing is, you need to find peace in yourself. Though I don't need to tell you that... Gods. And stop keeping everyone at arms' length.”

“Right. You're fourteen. Don't talk about shit you ain't got no clue about.”

Harry frowned. “Tommy, you read like a book sometimes. Your, uh, interactions with us are always closed and guarded—'cept when you've had a few shots of Firewhiskey—and even then. I heard somewhere that shortens someone's lifespan.”

“So what?! Better than being abandoned, betrayed, all that shit that goes with it.”

“A terrible existence,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Look. I care for you. As much as I care for Mazhe—and Gods, I love Mazhe like a brother. If... no... I... I would be willing to sign a magically-binding contract if that would prove... I won't ever abandon you. I promise you.”

“I want to believe you, Harry. I...” There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I swear it. Give us a chance. Don't keep everyone at arm's length, it's not good for your soul.”

They wasted the rest of the evening there, consuming more than a fair share of mead, along with a few servings of some more potent stuff. Harry didn't dare try and keep pace with his friend, but still ended up in no condition to really make it anywhere. In fact, he had no recollection of when he fell asleep.

Harry awoke a number of hours later, hearing someone muttering beside him. Casting bleary eyes around, he realized he was still in the Ragged Flagon, or just outside of it. Someone had moved the pair of them to some rough mats thrown down on top of a pile of hay in one of the unused alcoves. Tommy was still crashed out on his own mat, his jacket and hooded jumper tossed aside as he writhed fitfully.

“So sorry, Brendan,” he muttered, “So... sorry...”

“Tommy...” Harry whispered, getting to a sitting position.

“'s too late...”

“Tommy...” Harry this time dared to reach over and give his hand a squeeze.

“Huh!?” He jerked awake, startled by the unexpected contact. His tee shirt was soaked with sweat.

“Sorry, mate. You... were muttering in your sleep. Hold still a moment.” Harry waved his hand, and his friend was instantly dry.

“Thanks... Head hurts. Where... where are we again?”

“Ragged Flagon,” Harry answered. Come to think of it, his head was hurting too. “Too much to drink last night.”

“Helps to forget, though.”

“But they still haunt your dreams. You were muttering in your sleep.”

Tommy cast his eyes at the wall for a moment, then looked back at Harry.

“We could've started over, y'know. Then people from your world...”

“I know. You have a right to hate them. They took my parents from me. Tommy, it may sound crass... but... you had the privilege of knowing them. You made peace with your brother, right?”

“Yeah... but—“

“That's what you keep inside of you. That your brother loved you.”

Harry reached over and put a hand on Tommy's chest.

“Your brother will always be with you, right here. And so will your mum and dad. They never really leave us. Just as much as my mum and dad will always be with me. They wait for me on the other side.”

“You believe in the afterlife?”

“Yes. You've seen the ghosts at Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, of course. Freaked the shit out me the first time... You were there, remember?”

“Right.” Harry grinned, remembering the near fainting spell brought on by Sir Nicholas.

“But what does that have to do with the afterlife?”

“It's a conscious choice someone makes before death. Again, at least what I've been told. Some people choose to stay here in the mortal world. Whether it be here in Skyrim, or back in our own. But most, they move on.”

Tommy blew out a breath. “What time is it?”

“Really don't care at this point. No training this morning. Though I do have a lesson this morning with Balimund. _Tempus_ ,” Harry muttered. 7:35 wafted from the end of his index finger in red numbers.

“Thought the point of this training was for your benefit.”

“But not only, right? And stop changing the subject. Look, I don't know what you and miss Ferris talk about, but really, you have to get your house in order. I need all of you with us... not just someone going through the motions.”

Tommy reached up and pushed Harry's hand away. “You're not my shrink.”

“No, but you're one of my best friends.” Harry put his hand back on Tommy's chest. “I won't let you self-destruct. Beside that, you have two beautiful nieces who adore their uncle.”

Tommy rubbed his face with his hands.

“This is still messed up.”

“But it's getting better, right?” Harry slid his hand up and give Tommy's shoulder a squeeze. “Everything will get better... even with the darkness on the horizon.”

A blur of limbs a short distance away caught their attention. Justin and Mazhe had arrived by Port key.

“'morning, guys. Brought along some hangover cures, figured at least one of you would need it,” Justin grinned. That earned him a rude gesture from Tommy.

“Thanks for the foresight, both of us will need it,” said Harry, “Let's get up and about, so I can make my morning lesson with Balimund.”

“We'll be heading there a little early,” said Justin, as he passed Harry and Tommy the potions.

“Why?”

“You're gonna start learning how to Apparate.”

“I thought—oh, right.” Harry gave a sheepish grin.

* * *

_July 12, 2005_

_Queen's High Court, Trevelyan_

Now, it was Harry's turn to give testimony at the Enquiry. This time, Will and Alice attended with him, as the others were otherwise occupied.

“Mr. Potter, how is it that you came to attend the SPARTA tournament?”

“Justin... I mean, Dr. Fraser had secured tickets to the event. He didn't explain how or when.”

“Were you aware of anything that looked out of place?”

“No, ma'am. It was the first time I ever attended anything of the sort, but... as far as anything threatening, no. I think if I'd seen anything, I probably wouldn't have stuck around.”

“We would like for you to provide a pensieve account of the incident. Questions may be asked during playback.”

“If the court will provide a pensive, then I will oblige,” Harry answered, producing his wand.

An Auror quickly did so, and Harry drew out the appropriate memory. Much like with Tommy, the memory was only allowed to run for a few seconds, before one of the interrogators asked for it to be stopped.

“What did you think was going on at this point?”

“Dark wizards. There's no excuse to be shooting harmful magic into a crowd of innocent people, are we agreed on that?”

“A fair answer.”

The memory was allowed to continue, but stopped again, where group was debating the course of action.

“Why did you choose to remain at the scene, rather than flee as was the original plan?”

“Madam justice, I believed they were Death Eaters—once I saw the black robes and the masks. I won't ever run from that lot. They murdered my mum and dad, my destiny has me on course to fight their master, and it's only right that, if confronted with his minions, I stay and fight, rather than flee with my tail between my legs. They're cowards, the lot of them, and we all need to stand up to them as a community.”

Muttering came from the bench, as the interrogators all considered his words. From there, the memory was allowed to continue. It was stopped at the point where Harry was fixing Tommy's injured shoulder.

“Where did you learn your healing magic from, Mr. Potter?”

“Mostly through reading, actually. Where I was raised, I rely mostly on healing potions and that sort of thing. Here, meanwhile, many things can be fixed through spellwork.”

“Was Mr. Riordan seen by a healer?”

“Healer Ferris is a registered healer in both the regular field, as well as in the mind arts, madam justice,” said Alice. “Both Mr. Potter and Mr. Riordan have been to see her. Though, Mr. Potter has only needed her services briefly.”

The memory continued, and this time, it was allowed to play through to its end—the Portkey back to the College.

“According to the Auror Office, the port key took your group into Skyrim, specifically the College of Winterhold. Is this true?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“For what purpose would you subject a group of non-magical strangers to such actions and behaviours?”

“My first thought was immediate safety of everyone in the group, whether they be my dearest friend, or my newest. Given the heavy layers of security put on the connection between our world and Tamriel, the chances are next to nil that some sort of threat will be able to follow us there,” Harry answered.

“It's a fair answer, madam justice,” said a man further down the row, “It is one of the most secure connections in the Commonwealth, the level of protection placed on it is nearly impossible to crack.”

“The Orb of Magnus might have something to do with that,” said a witch on the far left side of the bench. “No matter, the discussion of security measures on that connection is not the purpose of this enquiry.”

Harry was more than glad when the questioning was finished. The event had been terrifying in its own way (although nothing of the caliber of what happened at the end of the Triwizard tournament). Having to relive the memory of it again, was the last thing he wanted to do at this point. He knew the day was wasted at this point, for no matter how much he tried, he could not put the terrible memories to bed.

* * *

_Late hours, July 31, 2005 / 31 Sun's Height, 4E200_

Harry was fifteen by his chronological clock, but he felt twenty, given all he had experienced in his young life. They had held a party in the Virtual Projection Room aboard the Ragnar, with more than a few guests being invited. The other three champions from the tournament had attended, as had the Weasleys, Hermione, a number of people from Skyrim, and a number of his friends and acquaintances from the Commonwealth. Even the Queen had shown up at one point, to wish him a Happy Birthday in person.

His birthday gifts had varied tremendously, given the wide spectrum of individuals present. A box of chocolate frogs from Neville; a broom servicing kit from Ron; Hermione gave him a gift certificate for Flourish & Blotts, along with a catalogue of their inventory so he could order by owl rather than shop in person.

The twins, as Harry somewhat expected, gave him a gift certificate for Zonkos' joke shop, but also enclosed a note saying they had something extra to give him, but wanted to do so away from the presence of their parents—in other words, they wanted to give him something Mrs. Weasley would likely strongly disapprove of.

Mazhe had given him a pair of Daedric daggers he'd had Eorland Grey-mane craft for him. He didn't have to ask to know they were expensive; Daedric weapons and armour were insanely rare, because they were incredibly difficult to make. Only a few people knew how to make that sort of thing, as far as he knew, and it was a well-known fact that Eorland Grey-mane was perhaps the best blacksmith in Skyrim.

The rest of his circle were rather tight-lipped about what exactly they had gotten him, only saying that it would be delivered the following day sometime; there had been delays in getting it finished—that from Justin. So, Harry had to assume it was likely something from the government.

All in all, it had been a fantastic day, and thinking back, it had been an eye-opener in how many people he counted as friends and allies. For everyone to be gathered in one place, there had been easily forty people attending. Most of them were adults, but to him it really didn't matter. They were all on his side, quite willing to fight for him and beside him when the time came to do so.

He smiled briefly, thinking of what he now referred to as his circle—his absolute closest friends: Mazhe, Tommy, and Justin. They would go to the wall for Harry, and then some—just as much as Harry would do the same for them. When things didn't make sense, his circle was his anchor; they kept him grounded.

It was at lunch time the following day when his circle presented him with one last birthday gift.

“But, I already have a trunk—what would I want with a chest?” Harry asked, seeing the large chest now resting on the floor in their rooms at the College.

“It ain't no ordinary chest,” said Tommy, shaking his head. “Trust us, it's awesome.”

That piqued Harry's interest.

“Right. What did you guys do?” He looked pointedly at Justin.

“Actually, it was Tommy's idea, we just helped. And since Mazhe was already working on something on his own,” Justin explained.

“We, uh, collected this from a bandit camp east of Whiterun,” said Mazhe, “Justin did a bit of cleaning, but, uh, the group of us took it to a place that... what was it?”

“Dealt in wizarding travelling gear,” Justin picked up, “The three of us threw in to have some modifications made to it.”

“Just take a look... better than tyring to explain it,” said Tommy.

“Very true.” Justin put a key in the lock, and turned it—Harry noticed that there were actually two different locks. He opened the lid, and climbed into it. Harry was still confused as to what his friend was up to... that was until he actually disappeared.

“Shor's balls...”

Mazhe only grinned, while Tommy smirked.

“Err... right.” Harry climbed into the trunk, thinking how nuts that would actually look... until he found his feet were on a ladder disappearing below. “Bloody hell...”

“C'mon down, Harry! Trust me, you'll love it!” Justin called.

Harry hesitated for a moment, but finally climbed down the ladder. He was even more stunned by what he found when he finally stepped off of it.

“Holy... It's like a hidden room!”

“Exactly like a hidden room. Or an entire apartment, in this case. This is the common room. A place to sit and relax, a table for eating and studying—there's a small kitchenette through that door,” said Justin, pointing to a doorway. “Bathroom.” another door to the right. “And rooms for each of us.” He pointed to a corridor leading off the common room.

“And a virtual projection room,” said Mazhe, stepping off the ladder.

“No way.”

“Yeah, that was one of the reasons this was a bit late. The government sort of helped us out with this.”

“Yeah, someone muttering about us using the Ragnar's too much,” said Tommy. He was half-way down the ladder.

“Holy... just, I'm speechless, guys. You're the best,” Harry grinned.

“Now something to keep in mind. This is not meant as a permanent home or anything like that. But it's good for temporary situations, shit like that,” Justin explained, “The food stores are good for a week before they have to be restocked.”

“Oh but still this is brilliant!”

“Tell him about the portability thing,” Tommy reminded him.

“Oh, yeah... right. Let's go back outside,” said Justin.

Back outside of the chest, Justin slammed the lid closed.

“One thing we should do before we do anything else... you need to claim ownership.”

“How do I do that?” Harry asked.

“Blood. A simple drop of blood, put on the key before it is inserted into the lock. It will lock the ownership to you.”

“Got something I can poke my finger with—no... Balls, I'm not gonna slice myself open,” Harry snorted, at Tommy's offered blade.

“Here.” Justin produced a quill, which Harry used to poke one of his fingers, and let a single drop of blood well up from the wound. He rubbed it on the key, then inserted it into the lock. The chest vibrated a moment, but lay still.

“That's it?” Harry asked, then sucked on his finger to stop it bleeding.

“That's it. Now. Put a hand on the chest, while thinking, 'shrink'.”

Harry did as instructed, and was momentarily surprised to find it instantly shrunk down to the size of a matchbox.

“Wicked.”

“Very handy. A suggestion from a colleague, they were only happy to help. Now... touch it while thinking 'enlarge'.”

Harry did so, and this time was not so much surprised, as the chest resumed its original size.

“What if there are people inside?”

“Then for now, they wouldn't be able to get out again—though I might have an idea or two on how to fix that.”

“But... how?” Harry was confused.

“This is what's called a pocket dimension. It exists outside of this plane. So what's happening outside the chest won't have any effect on what's inside. It's also been spelled to be tamper-proof, waterproof, and fireproof.”

“And you're the only one right now that can move it,” said Mazhe, still smirking. “Quite funny watching Tommy here trying to move it after the ownership charms were put on it.”

“Yeah, real funny,” Tommy muttered, clearly not amused from that episode. He smirked. “Got him back for it though.”

Justin scowled. “Real mature.”

“Oh, Muggle pranking can be the best sometimes,” Harry grinned. He got serious.

“Guys. Thanks. This means a lot to me.”

* * *

_August 8, 2005 / 8 Last Seed, 4E200_

Now that the tournament was over and done with, it was finally decided the Ragnar should return to its normal patrol route over the mid-Atlantic ocean. Harry had watched as they departed from the Black lake a few days prior, but soon grew bored as they left land behind, and set out over the ocean. Her patrol altitude was extreme, clearing normal aviation traffic by nearly ten thousand feet.

Harry found it strange, in some ways, to see clear weather outside the window. Being up so high, they left the clouds far below them, and their current flight path gave them a southern exposure, the sun's rays streaming in the windows from sunrise to sunset. The Ragnar was a truly astonishing bit of engineering, from both a magical and a non-magical perspective, maintaining a slow, almost lazy path across the sky heading westward.

Back to the point of our story, it was getting on to 4 am, with everyone having long gone to bed, when everyone dragged back to consciousness by a blaring klaxon.

“ _AIC to all hands, brace for impact_!” came a warning over the public address system.

“Huh?!” Harry muttered, gesturing at himself with a hand, instantly changing into the clothes he had on last night.

“Harry?” Brandon asked, already at the door. He was half-dressed, his boots thrown on haphazardly, along with a white tank top.

“Got no clue. C'mon, fireplace, right now,” Harry decided. “Mazhe went back to the College didn't he?”

“Yeah, just before.”

“What's going on?” Tommy had joined Brandon at the door to the room.

“Come on, we're getting out of here,” Harry said again.

“Where's Justin?” asked Brandon.

“Not in his room? No clue. C'mon.”

The three of them made it out into the corridor, and half-way across the common room before the floor under them lurched, and the room seemed to lean sideways. Brandon managed to grab onto the couch, but it was futile, and he fell over, and slid down the floor to land in a heap against the wall. Harry slid a little more gracefully, but still landed in a heap, while Tommy careened across the room, and crashed into one of the windows. Still, the deck continued to tilt, until they were at a dangerous sixty-degree angle.

“TOMMY MOVE!” Harry shouted, and the guy managed to clear just in time for one of the heavy couches to come crashing into the spot he'd just been. “Gods, what the hell are they doing?”

More items were coming loose, and he instinctively produced a shield to deflect the debris. Logs from the fireplace, with their cinders scattering in all directions; books, plates and other items from the shelves... They were forced to move abruptly again, as another chair wrenched itself loose, and came crashing down to impact with the wall.

“Shit!” Harry cursed, and banished a heavy bookcase which had come loose, and would have landed on top of Tommy. The angle was slowly lessening, but now it felt like they were descending, the floor was sloping forward.

“Jesus Christ,” Brandon muttered, “Evasive manoeuvres...” He shook his head, slumped up against the wall.

“Ditto,” said Harry. He glanced over at Tommy, who was holding his face. “Shit. Tommy... you all right?”

“No... my nose...”

A glance at the window told Harry what had happened. He'd likely busted his nose when he hit the glass. There was a splatter of blood high up on it.

“Protect your face, mate.” Harry warned, holding out his right hand. “ _Accio_ Tommy!”

It felt like he'd been snagged by an enormous hook, and yanked across the room. Harry expertly caught his friend, and with Brandon' help, they got him laid out flat.

“Let me see,” said Harry, pulling Tommy's hand away from his face. There was a lot of blood. “Shit. This is gonna hurt, but I can fix it.”

“Jub do ib,” Tommy muttered.

Harry put a finger close to Tommy's busted nose. “ _Episkey_.”

“AAAAAH!” Tommy shouted... and the pain was gone quick as it had came.

“ _Evanesco_ ,” Harry muttered, and the blood vanished from his face and clothes. “Better?”

“Thank you.”

The ship was starting to right herself at this point, the severe angle of the deck becoming gradually less, as was the forward slope.

“She's returning to level flight. Just... holy fuck,” Brandon muttered, clearly not impressed.

“ _AIC to all hands, this is the XO. We are returning to level flight. All departments, damage report beginning with that demanding immediate attention,_ ” came a voice over the public address system.

“ _AIC, Technomancy Lab. Major fire, fire suppression failure. Compartment has been sealed, but we need all the help we can get down here._ ”

“ _Copy, Technomancy Lab._ ”

“ _AIC, Herbology. We have people trapped down here, we need extra wands on site A.S.A.P._ ”

“ _Copy, Herbology._ ”

Harry looked between Brandon and Tommy, and there was a silent agreement on what to do. Harry picked up the phone by the doors, and remembering the code to reach the AIC, he punched it in.

“It's Harry Potter. What can we do?” he asked, hearing a voice on the other end.

It proved a very busy day for them, as they helped clear one calamity after another. Eric had met up with them a short while later. Most of their efforts went into moving heavy objects and equipment to free people from under it. Given the colossal size of the ship, there were a lot of big things on board—things that could easily pin a human being, whether magical or not.

The sun was disappearing over the western horizon before they returned to the suite, and Harry mentally groaned. Being tied up with helping everywhere else, there had been no time to put their suite back to rights.

“To hell with this. We'll spend the night at the College.”

“After this shit... how about we just stay there?” Tommy muttered. The four of them were dirty, sweaty, and tired from the legwork.

“Humph... agreed,” Harry said, wearily. “Rude awakening this morning, bloody hell.”

It was late the next morning before any of them stirred. Stepping out of his compartment, he found Alice seated at the table, a newspaper in front of her.

“Good morning, Harry,” she greeted him warmly.

“Alice... did... something happen?”

“You're front page news this morning,” she answered, indicating the paper. It was a copy of the _National Daily Chronicle_ , and a large picture dominated the front page. It was of him, Tommy, Eric, and Brandon, just after clearing a group of people trapped by fallen debris. The four of them looked a mess, soaking wet, the dust having caked onto their clothes like mud.

 

_BOY-WHO-LIVED, FRIENDS ASSIST IN DRAMATIC RESCUE_

_Harry Potter and a friend, along with two members of Her Majesty's Special Operations Unit, assisted in the rescue of dozens of individuals in the early hours of yesterday morning, after the HMS Ragnar was forced to perform evasive manoeuvres in an attempt to avoid a mid-air collision with another aircraft, resulting in the dislodging of many pieces of equipment and other objects inside her._

_Persons among those rescued by the famous boy—who just turned fifteen a week ago—include the son of Nathan Blake, the Minister of Justice, and the nephew of Prime Minister Victoria Martin. Both minister Blake and Prime Minister Martin are issuing informal statements of gratitude for the rescue of their loved ones, although something much more formal may be on the way, given the selfless actions of those four gentlemen yesterday morning._

_There have been many questions floated about within Mr. Potter's country of birth as of late, questioning his motives and even his sanity, but his actions yesterday clearly demonstrate the boy is nothing less than a hero, an individual who takes action when times demand it._

_The same can be said of those working alongside him._

“ _The four of them worked as a team,” one crew member said, when asked of the trio's efforts yesterday. “Harry would lift, while Tommy would pull people out from behind whatever it was that had them trapped. Lt. Commander McAllister, and 1_ _st_ _Lt. Gomrass worked with equal speed in putting things to rights, removing obstructions, and directing medical teams.”_

_The third member, Thomas Conlon, has been a member of Harry's group of friends since the incident in Atlantic City on October 31 of last year, and by what little information we were able to gather, has been training Mr. Potter in a number of areas, including strength training._

_We were unable to secure any sort of statement from Mr. Potter, or Mr. Conlon by press-time, but... (see Official, page 2)_

_Why was Ragnar forced into a dangerous manoeuvre? Page 5_

_Thomas Conlon: Hero complex? Page 10_

_Atlantic City incident: The ripple effect, page 8_

_Lies in the Daily Prophet: Lack of decorum in the English media, editorial, page 18._

 

Harry could only smile, seeing the picture. He didn't see his actions as heroic, but that was fine. They had worked as a team, that was very true. His thoughts were interrupted as the floo fired, and Justin stepped out of the grate.

“Damn, Harry. Magnet for trouble, aren't you.”

“And good morning to you too,” said Harry, sarcastically.

“You guys are all okay?”

“Tommy busted his nose when the ship rolled, but I was able to fix it. That was it.”

Justin looked at the paper and grinned.

“Well, you guys certainly look the team there. Lots of people very proud of you guys this morning.”

“Why did the Ragnar have to do that though. Shit, we could've been killed,” said Harry, as he filled his plate.

“It was a seven-sixty-seven. It was somehow off course, from what I could gather. The government's handling it.”

“Handling it?” Harry arched an eyebrow.

“Nothing bad. The aircraft narrowly avoided collision, but the government will still modify peoples' memories just to ensure the Statute of Secrecy remains intact,” Alice answered.

“After that, we're likely gonna be staying here for the most part. There was unspoken agreement between us last night.”

“Fair enough. Considering you've got your own Virtual Projection Room inside of your chest now. Thing is, Harry, I know you like the Ragnar. You'll be back there sooner than later.” That got a rude gesture for his effort.

* * *

_August 18, 2005_

It being summer time, there was no need for the staff to be in the Great Hall for lunch. And so it was, that the headmaster was having lunch in his office, when the gargoyle below informed him his deputy was on the way up. He waited until she was just about to knock before calling out, “Come in, Minerva.”

The door opened and McGonagall stepped into the office, bringing with her a newspaper.

“Potter has been rather busy the last few days,” she said, dropping the paper on Dumbledore's desk. It was not a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , but a paper out of the Commonwealth. The photo took up the top half of the paper, featuring a stoic-looking boy-who-lived, along with Tommy Conlon, all standing on a dais, while the Queen presented some sort of pin to each of them.

 

_POTTER, CONLON AWARDED P. J. WARREN AWARD FOR SPECIAL SERVICES TO THE COMMONWEALTH_

_Actions on August 8 garner recognition of heroic actions_

 

_In response to the selfless acts of Mr. Potter and his friends a week ago Friday, the government has awarded Mr. Potter and Mr. Conlon one of the highest forms of recognition possible for a civilian within the Commonwealth._

“ _The actions of these fine gentlemen exemplify a great level of care and respect for their fellow man, in this case members of the HMS Ragnar's crew, all put in dire circumstances following sudden evasive action required to avoid a mid-air collision with another craft. These gentlemen were not required to do so, being guests aboard Our ship, but did so anyway, earning the praise and gratitude of her crew._

“ _Therefore, it is with tremendous gratitude that We award Harry Potter and Thomas Conlon the Philip James Warren Award for special services to the Commonwealth. May it be said the men before you have strong hearts, and may they be an inspiration to us all in the dark times that loom ahead,” proclaimed the Queen, at a special ceremony yesterday at her palace at Trevelyan._

_When asked of his involvement in the aftermath of the incident on August 8, Mr. Potter answered, “It was the right thing to do. We aren't going to just let people die. They are sons and daughters of the Commonwealth, a place I am proud to call home... though I would do this anywhere. We have a responsibility to look out for each other, no matter how dangerous or frightening it may be.”_

_Indeed, a rather bold answer, one that will certainly have a great many of us within Valicadia thinking. Their actions should inspire us all to do right by one another in the (See Dark Times, page 3)_

_Potter: Youngest recipient of P. J. Warren Award, page 8_

_Timeline of events from August 8, page 6_

_Debunking the Prophet: Potter more than sane, page 13_

 

“Harry has been busy then,” said Dumbledore, as he finished the article.

“More than busy, Albus. Their paper from August 9th. He is no longer a student here, but he acted every bit the Gryffindor, according to the article.”

She plopped another newspaper on the desk. This one featuring the photo of the quartet during the incident. He mentally frowned at the image; All of the faces in the photo were giving him dirty looks, as if they knew who was looking at them. Harry was becoming a young man rather than a boy, and this latest award only gave further credence to the notion. With each passing day, he slipped further and further from his grasp.

“Nearly a hundred people rescued between the four of them,” said McGonagall.

“Yes, I do agree, a wonderful achievement, considering the dreadful press he has been getting here at home.”

“And you and I both know it's not just him getting bad press here, Albus. Surely there is something you can do to get some sort of control over miss Skeeter and her poison pen.”

“I do wish there was, Minerva. Unfortunately there are things which do take a much higher priority at the moment, the search for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor being one of them. I'm sure the Ministry won't do us any good should they choose.”

“Albus, I truly hope you don't plan on trying to drag Potter back to the school. He resents us enough as it is.”

“He needs to be here amongst his peers,” Dumbledore answered firmly.

McGonagall mentally sighed. Albus was really pushing things, and in some ways, it was frightening. The Commonwealth operated outside of the ICW. They could do a lot of damage if they truly wanted to, and it had been quite evident as to how far they were willing to go when it came to protecting the interests of Harry Potter. She knew, if it really came down to it, the Commonwealth would likely go to war to protect him. If Albus didn't soon understand that, Voldemort would be the least of his problems.

* * *

“Excellent. Now again. Across the room,” said Justin. They were once again in the Ragged Flagon, having just completed their morning training session, taking advantage of the warm weather. Their morning run had taken them to the bridge to Goldenglow Estate and back. They knew better than to cross over to the island. The estate was well-protected, and their presence would most certainly be unwelcome.

“About time I got the hang of it,” Harry grinned.

He twisted on the spot, and vanished with a noisy _crack_ , to reappear on the opposite side of the chamber. He checked himself over although he hadn't felt any sort of pain, just to make sure. Splinching, or leaving parts of himself behind, had been an issue for a while—with some rather grotesque results. Justin, of course, had been able to quickly fix things, but it was still unsettling, just the same.

Then, there had been the teasing that came about initially. It did look rather ridiculous as he first began to learn how to Apparate, twisting around on the spot and falling on his arse more times than he could count. Mazhe learned not to laugh after the second time his mouth had magically filled with dish soap. Same went for Tommy. Oh yes, they learned.

Brynjolf learned too, finding himself turned upside down and suspended by the ankles from the roof of the Flagon. It wasn't one of his best moments. Harry had warned him the first time: “I'll hang you upside down like a bat.” Delvin had thought it amusing, at least until he joined his Guild mate. The lot of them learned: Taunt or tease Harry at your peril.

A week later, August 28, Harry attended an exam for his Apparition license. It was over in a half-hour, and given his constant one-on-one instruction, he passed without difficulty. It resulted in a spontaneous celebration at the Ragged Flagon, and needless to say, none of the circle were in much shape to do anything the following morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UP NEXT: Harry, Mazhe, and Tommy join an ongoing College-led study of an ancient Nordic ruin; their exploration sets events in motion that could threaten the very land.


	16. A Danger Unleashed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry, Mazhe, and Tommy join an ongoing College-led study of an ancient Nordic ruin; their exploration sets events in motion that have immediate catastrophic consequences, and in the long term, could threaten the very land._

**16\. A DANGER UNLEASHED**

**September 2 - 11, 2005**

* * *

_2 Hearthfire, 4E200_

_Ron and Hermione,_

_Trying something new here... Gods, Justin has been busy. He's managed to get computers to work here in the College... the guy's brilliant—scary brilliant at times. So this is my first ever typed correspondence. The typing thing is taking a bit to get used to, but I think it's getting easier as I do it, something like that. He's also trying to get a connection to the inter-net?? or something like that to work here, I still don't know why. He compares it to an electronic library, sounds a bit dodgy to me._

_Congratulations to the both of you on making Prefect. You guys will do great, I think; Professor McGonagall couldn't have made a better choice. You guys know I trust her judgement on matters far more than I do Dumbledore._

_This Umbridge woman sounds like a real... well, I won't put that on paper, but, Gods, Hogwarts seems to have the worst sort of luck when it comes to some of the teachers, particularly a core subject such as Defence Against the Dark Arts. And this was the woman the Ministry forced on the school? Really glad I've dealt myself away from the madness. Y'know, I could talk to Will and Alice, see if they're willing to set something up with Sir Malcolm Davis (the school in Trevelyan—it's where Justin went to school)._

_Even though I'm here at the College, I'm still keeping up with my fifth year classes. Professor McGonagall has sent me the schedule I would have had should I sill be a student there, and a few teachers are still sending me assignments._

_Yes, I am most certainly studying for my O.W.L.s, Hermione. I've already informed the Arch-mage of the importance of this year, and so won't be teaching any classes at the College until after exams are over. He was somewhat disappointed, but equally understands that I have made a commitment in my own world, and he does wish me luck._

_All in all, I do hope it's a quiet year for a change, on both our ends—though by how you guys make out this Umbridge woman, it likely won't be. I have my fingers crossed that I stay out of things there this year, as I do have enough on my plate as it is._

_As always, I love to hear from you guys, so don't hesitate to send me an owl._

_Miss you both,_

_Harry_

 

“Just about finished?” Justin asked, as he climbed out of Harry's trunk.

“Yeah. Just need to print a copy. Still think writing is easier.”

“Because you're not used to it,” said Justin, “Give it a chance.”

“Harry, d'you mind if I borrow Hedwig again?” Tommy asked. He was scribbling a name on the front of a thick envelope.

“Another letter for Pilar?”

“Yeah.”

“Hedwig loves the work. Keep it up and I'll be looking for a new owl,” Harry grinned.

Naturally, Harry knew about Pilar Fernandez. Her husband Manny had been a brother in all but blood to Tommy while he was in the Marine Corps. Tommy had been the only survivor of a tragic friendly-fire incident during their tour of duty in Iraq, resulting in his fleeing the country, and his AWOL status. Harry knew that most of the money he was paying Tommy went to Pilar to help her and her two children.

“Y'know, if you want, we could probably set up a bank account for them, that way you could just deposit the money rather than sending it to them,” Justin suggested.

“'an the IRS take half of it,” said Tommy, shaking his head, “This is under the table.”

“Under the table?” Harry was confused.

“He means, she doesn't declare it on her income tax,” Justin clarified. “Jesus, though, what I hear about the Internal Revenue Service, they're a scary bunch. _Nazis_ when it comes to tax collection. 'course, the Ministry of Finance here can be pretty scary, and Gringotts tends to adhere to any sort of, uh, filings, stuff like that. I think the Ministry actually has a few goblins working for them.”

* * *

_9 Hearthfire, 4E200 / 9 September, 2005_

“Harry? Could I have a word with you?” Tolfdir was at the door.

Harry set his fourth-grade Transfiguration textbook down.

“Something wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, no, my boy, nothing wrong at all! In fact, something very exciting has come up,” Tolfdir answered. “You know of our current excavation at Saarthal?”

“yeah, of course,” Harry answered.

“We seem to be down a few hands, and could use the help.”

“You want us to join an excavation?” Mazhe looked up from where he was sitting; he had his nose in a tome snagged from the Arcaneum. He was currently enjoying some time off from his near constant work for Farengar in Whiterun.

“I would be delighted if the pair of you would join us.”

“It's up to you, Harry,” said Remus. He had been tutoring Harry in a few subjects—that morning they were covering Charms and Transfiguration. “Do realize, this is a busy year, and there is a lot of material we have to cover.”

“Well... sure then.”

“We'll only be a couple of days,” Tolfdir promised, “We only need a couple of extra hands.”

“You're needin' someone to do some lifting,” Tommy guessed. He was happily occupied with one of the computers.

“Indeed. Though I don't need to remind you all, it is an open excavation, and not everything has been shored up thus far.”

“So where is it?” Tommy asked.

“South of Winterhold,” Harry answered, “The College has been actively working on it since... Gods... before I arrived here, I think. Guys?”

“Sure,” Tommy agreed.

“I think it'll be wicked,” said Mazhe, getting up. “Harry, you probably want to bring your chest along, just in case.”

“Yeah, good thinking.”

It certainly wasn't the first Nordic ruin Harry had been into. The question was, why had it been buried and collapsed such as it was? So many other ruins in Skyrim were in far better condition than this was.

“Shit... looks like it was attacked,” Tommy guessed, as the group descended a spiral ramp into the now mostly cleared first chamber.

“Would explain why it's in such poor shape,” Harry agreed, “We've all been in ruins that didn't look as bad as this.”

“Yes, yes, indeed,” said Tolfdir, now standing at the bottom of the ramp, “Now, as some of you may already know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim. It was also the largest. Sacked by the elves in the infamous ' _Night of Tears',_ not much is known about what happened to Saarthal. This is an exciting opportunity for us. To be able to study such an early civilization, and the magics they used. Now, are there any questions? Good, good. Harry and your companions, why don't you three see about helping Arniel Gane? Follow that tunnel, he should be in a chamber not far ahead. The rest of you...”

Harry, Mazhe, and Tommy followed Tolfdir's directions, and travelled down a corridor lit with lanterns. It opened into a multi-level chamber with wooden scaffolding. Most of the chamber had been cleared, but there was still a lot of debris. And, even so, after thousands of years covered by debris, the evidence of intense battle were evident. Gouge marks in the walls, and burn marks, the tell-tale signs of violent magic unleashed within the chamber.

Spotting a student working through a pile of rubble, Harry asked, “Where's Arniel Gane?”

“Side corridor, that way,” the student indicated a side passage leaving off the lower part of the chamber.

“Great, thanks.”

“Keep your wits about you, Harry,” the student warned, “Place is still shifty in some places.”

They used the spiral ramp to descend to the lower level of the chamber, and followed the side passage as directed. Arniel Gane was found working at a makeshift table, looking over several artefacts likely recovered in the ruin.

“Uh, Arniel? Tolfdir sent us to help out,” said Harry.

“Oh. Harry. Good of you to join us,” said Arniel, without looking up. “Mazhe, and... Tom, is it?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered.

“I've only looked through a portion of this section. You three, uh, you can look around in the chambers just north of here.”

He turned around. “Try and be careful, all right? We don't want to damage anything.”

“What are we looking for?” Mazhe asked.

“Anything that may be magical or unusual in nature.”

Harry smirked and drew his wand. “ _Magia revelio_ ,” he whispered.

The joke was on him, when the place lit up like a Christmas tree. He simply shrugged. “Worth a try.”

The three of them followed the chamber a little further, until it branched off into a pair of small chambers, one smaller than the other. The smaller chamber contained a set of shelves, and Harry took to examining the contents: a lantern, a few broken pots, and... an urn.

Normally, they wouldn't open an urn, as it was considered disrupting the dead. In this case, however, they had been asked to look for things of interest. So, he carefully opened the top, and reached inside.

“Jackpot,” he muttered, pulling out an ancient necklace. He could easily feel the magic humming from it.

“Oh. Nice find,” Mazhe commented, “Look at this... not as good as that, but...” He opened his hand, to reveal an enchanted ring. “If Arniel will let us keep this, it'll help you with your smithing.”

“Balimund won't let me use stuff like that while I'm learning,” Harry answered.

“Damm,” Tommy muttered, getting to his feet. “This what he meant?”

He held a small dagger in his hand, which somewhat resembled the dagger strapped to Harry's hip. It pulsed with purple energy.

“Wicked find!” Mazhe exclaimed, “Gods, it's ebony. Let me hold it a moment.”

Tommy handed the blade over, and Mazhe held it a moment.

“Soul trap enchantment. You kill something with this and you have a soul gem on you...”

“Yeah, seen you guys do it enough. This ebony... it's rare then.”

“Very,” said Mazhe. “Arniel might let you keep it.”

They spent another hour scouring the small chamber, before Mazhe pushed Harry and Tommy on to search further ahead. Given how small the space was, it actually made sense, and so the pair pushed forward into the larger cavity.

There, Harry's eyes were instantly drawn to an ancient amulet resting rather innocently in an alcove on the opposite side of the chamber. His suspicions were instantly raised, having encountered many traps already.

“Waaaaay too suspicious for my liking,” said Harry, shaking his head. He drew his wand, and both he and Tommy stood in the alcove beside it, mindful of the throne-like seat—another place Harry knew better than to try and occupy. “ _Accio_ amulet,” he whispered.

As soon as the amulet left its resting place, both exits became blocked with metal bars, sealing the pair in the small chamber.

“Balls,” Harry muttered, as the amulet smacked into his hand.

“Harry? Tommy? What happened?” Mazhe questioned, appearing on the other side of the bars.

“We picked this up off the wall,” Harry answered. “Gods. This has to be a first.”

“Well, now that you're confined in a tight space together,” Mazhe smirked.

“Fuck off,” said Tommy, scowling.

“Not helping,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

“What in the world was that racket? Is everything all right?” Tolfdir had appeared beside Mazhe, looking concerned.

“Not exactly,” Harry muttered, “I, uh, collected this off the wall over there. It locked us in here.”

“I wonder... what effect might your spells have? Try casting magic at the wall,” Tolfdir suggested.

Harry obliged, nailing the wall with an ice spike, with less-than-stellar results.

“Harry, what about putting the amulet on?” Mazhe suggested.

“Yeah, and it fry us both to death,” said Tommy, sarcastically. Of course, he wasn't far off the mark when it came to cursed artefacts.

“That would be highly unlikely,” Tolfdir disagreed.

Harry gave a shrug. If Tolfdir didn't think it would be a problem... he slipped the amulet on.

“Uh, Harry...” Tommy pointed at the alcove, which was then giving off a pale glow.

“Well I'll be... Some kind of resonance... you and the wall. It must be connected to the amulet!” said Tolfdir, now excited. “I wonder... what effect might your spells have now?”

Harry once again cast an ice spike at the wall, and this time, he got results. The back wall of the alcove crumbled into dust, and the metal spikes that had sealed off the chamber slid back into the floor, allowing both Mazhe and Tolfdir access. The elderly Nord crossed the chamber to peer into the newly created opening.

“Well would you look at that!” he remarked.

“Sir?” Mazhe asked.

“I'm not sure. I certainly wasn't expecting this,” said Tolfdir, “This appears to lead somewhere. Let's see where it goes.”

He was off through the opening before the others could protest. Mazhe quickly followed, and, not wanting to be left behind, the others followed suit.

“Well, this is highly unusual. And very interesting,” they could hear Tolfdir speaking, his voice echoing in the tunnel, “Why in the world would this be sealed off? What is this place?”

The tunnel was rather brief, opening up into a small chamber, what looked to be a dead end. There was a small counter at the centre of it, two sarcophagi—one in front, and one to the left, with a bookcase on the right side.

“Well, that didn't—what in the Gods...” Mazhe muttered, as everything seemed to slow. A shadowy figure began to form on the other side of the counter—he wore hooded tan robes with crimson trim.

“Hold, mage, and listen well,” he began, gravely, his form becoming solid at last. “Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped. Judgement has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgement _will_ be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order believes in you. You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching.”

He vanished, and with him, the strange warp-like sensation.

“Harry? All right?” Tommy asked, looking confused. So did Tolfdir.

“Who did he mean?” Harry asked.

“I don't know. Did you guys see that?” Mazhe asked. That got blank looks from both Tommy and Tolfdir.

“But... he wasn't talking about me... was he?” Harry again found the need to bang his head against the wall.

“What happened?” Tolfdir prompted.

“It was a... I don't know, sir,” said Harry, still really confused about what he had just witnessed.

“Get out your chest,” Tommy suggested, “Let us see it.”

“Good thinking.”

Harry pulled his miniaturized chest out of his pocket, set it on the floor and restored it to original size. The four of them climbed inside, and it only took a minute for Harry to retrieve his pensive. He drew out the short memory of what had happened shortly before, and the four of them entered the pensieve.

“By the eight,” Tolfdir muttered, “The Psijic Order... it has been a long time since they were seen in Tamriel.”

Harry let out a groan, and tossed the amulet they'd recovered only minutes earlier on the table beside the pensieve. “Still doesn't really help me. Is he talking about me specifically or both of us?”

“I would have to guess he meant the pair of you,” answered Tolfdir, “If it was the pair of you who were allowed to see and hear him, he was addressing the pair of you explicitly.”

“Great. Just great. As if I don't have one destiny looming over my head,” Harry complained.

“We just work it through, like we always have,” said Mazhe, “Come on, let's get back outside.”

As soon as Harry had climbed out of the chest, there came a bang from the left side of the room, as the lid of the sarcophagus fell away and crashed to the floor. He groaned mentally, as a Draugr half-stumbled out of it, as though still half-asleep. It looked eyes with Harry, and let out a grunt, brandishing its weapon—a common ancient axe.

KAWHACK! Harry did not miss, catching the bone-walker between the eyes with an ice spike, and it crumpled to the floor, its soul banished to eternal sleep.

“Harry?!” Mazhe scrambled out of the chest just as the lid to the other sarcophagus burst open, revealing a second Draugr.

“Tommy! Stay down!” Harry shouted, as the undead readied a spell of its own. Both Harry and Mazhe were forced to duck, as the Draugr unleashed an ice spike, which impacted with the wall behind Mazhe.

FWOOOSH! Mazhe answered with a blast of fire, which engulfed the monster. Now alight, it didn't seem to be fazed by that fact, and unleashed another ice spike, forcing Mazhe to dodge.

KAWHACK! Harry's ice spike just missed. “Bastard.” He thrust his hand out. “ _Petrificus Totalus_!!” The Draugr found itself frozen like a statue.

“Your fire's better than mine. Roast it for me, will you?”

With the Draugr rendered harmless, Mazhe took his time reducing it to a pile of ashes.

“Gods... forget sometimes how dangerous they can be,” said Harry, shaking his head.

“Likewise. Though... look at that.” Mazhe indicated the new passageway through the back of the sarcophagus in front of them.

Tommy stuck his head out of the chest.

“Well? It _safe_ for me to come out now?” he asked, sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah... come on out,” said Harry. Tommy emerged from the chest, with Tolfdir immediately following.

“What happened?” the elderly mage asked.

“Draugr. A little stronger than expected. That one--” Harry pointed to the pile of ash, “--was a lot stronger. Gods... couldn't take it down until I immobilized it.”

“I'm not made of glass,” said Tommy, angrily, “Don't keep shoving me off in a corner.”

“Against one of these? It almost nailed Harry with an ice spike,” Mazhe argued, “Sometimes it's better to keep you guys out of the fight... 'specially if it's something like this. It was using magic, and it was a bit stronger than usual.”

Tommy gave both Mazhe and Harry an angry look. They'd been over this sort of discussion on a number of occasions already. Harry collected the chest, shrunk it down and stuffed it into the pocket of his pants.

“Let's keep moving, see what's up ahead,” said Mazhe, wanting to stave off an argument.

The opening led into a short, downward-sloping hall with numerous alcoves in it, some of which containing remains. All of them were extra-vigilant, considering sometimes, those remains were known to come back to life. They passed through without incident, however, arriving at a heavy portcullis.

“Get the lever, Harry,” said Mazhe, pointing to a lever to the right of it. Harry did so, and although it was sticky, it eventually budged, triggering the mechanism which raised the gate.

The chamber they entered was truly astounding. Round, and enormous, with an arch bridge crossing its centre—the hole covered with a heavy metal grate—the chamber was filled with coffins. Harry let his eyes lift skyward, and the rows seemed to go on out of sight.

“Well!” Tolfdir was astounded. “I've never seen anything like this in Nordic ruins before. Why, just look at all these coffins!”

“Gods... so many dead,” said Mazhe, shaking his head, “I find myself as astounded as you, sir.”

“This... this bears closer inspection. I'd like to stay a while and examine this. The three of you, meanwhile, should press on. See if you can find whatever this vision of yours mentioned. But if it is truly dangerous, be careful. Go on ahead—”

Tolfdir didn't have a chance to finish, as four sarcophagi burst open, their occupants stirring. Both Harry and Mazhe readied their chosen method of attack—Mazhe with fire, Harry, as always, that of frost.

They were somewhat stunned, however, as Tommy charged the stirring undead on the far right, tackling it back into its sarcophagus, and driving his elbow into its face. The monster crumpled to the ground and did not get up.

“Um...”

“Harry... just...”

_FWOOSH_. Mazhe set the next bone-walker on fire, while Harry nailed it with an ice spike. There was no time to stand agape—the remaining Draugr were now quite aware of the intrusion.

_KAWHACK_! The Draugr on the far left unleashed an ice spike which crashed into the shield Tolfdir had erected. Harry answered back with one of his own. It narrowly missed. However, the distraction gave Tommy a chance to move in on the third enemy, and like the first, he used brute strength to crush its neck.

_KAWHACK_! This time, Harry did not miss, dispatching the final enemy, and the chamber was momentarily silent.

“Shor's beard...” said Tolfdir.

“Uh, ditto,” said Harry, regarding his newest friend. He'd just taken out two dangerous undead things with his bare hands.

“What, you thought all the shit I've been teaching you is all bullshit? I think I can look after myself.”

“I'm sorry,” said Harry, still stunned by what he'd just witnessed. “I... I guess I keep forgetting, y'know... Gods... can't believe you did that, though.”

“Who says you can't? Don't take a lot to break bones,” said Tommy, kneeling down beside the body at his feet. “They're bones. Bust 'em up.”

“Best keep moving,” said Mazhe, “Tolfdir... you'll be all right here then?”

“Yes, indeed, you three go on ahead, I'll catch up shortly. The two pull chains likely open the bars blocking the way.” He indicated the two pull chains, one on either side of the archway which was blocked by metal bars.

“Harry, you get the one on the right, I'll take left,” Mazhe decided. The three of them crossed the chamber, with Harry going right, and Mazhe going left. They pulled their chosen pull chain, and as expected, the metal bars blocking the way slid into holes in the floor.

The door led into a small burial chamber, with a few of the alcoves being occupied with remains. Down a short corridor and up a short flight of stairs, they entered a moderate-sized chamber with two levels. The three of them were extra-vigilant, having faced Draugr already. Shuffling feet told them all they needed to know: more lay ahead.

“What's that thing?” Tommy pointed to a glowing red symbol on the floor not far ahead of them.

“Back up... everyone back up,” Mazhe warned.

They moved back to the top of the stairs, where he reached into his satchel, and pulled out a stone about the size of his fist, and lobbed it at the symbol. On contact, the symbol exploded into a blazing inferno which blocked their way.

“A practical lesson. Best to either avoid them, or set them off from a distance. The consequences can be... painful.”

Several grunts from above warned them they were not alone, and within seconds, they were fighting a half-dozen Draugr. However, now that Harry knew Tommy could stand on his own against the foul beings, he was less concerned, and the three of them quickly dispatched the threats.

They pushed on, climbing a set of stairs made from logs, up to the upper level of the chamber, then through a doorway leading into another burial hall. More Draugr here, but once again, they were easily dispatched, letting them move into a narrow corridor. That opened up slightly, with three alcoves on either side, each of which containing a movable three-sided pillar with a symbol on each face: a hawk, a whale, and a snake. Behind each pillar was a picture.

“Right. This is pretty simple,” Mazhe explained, “The picture on the wall behind the pillar shows what side of the pillar should be facing out. Like this.”

He approached the first pillar on the right hand side. The picture behind it showed a hawk, and so he turned the pillar until the side showing the hawk faced the centre of the corridor.

“Simple enough,” said Tommy, taking the next pillar.

There were six in all which needed to be turned to face correctly, but with the three of them working on it, it only took about a minute for the pillars to be configured properly. Mazhe this time took the honours of throwing the lever, and the metal gate slid up and out of the way.

“Bad shit happens if you get it wrong,” said Tommy. It wasn't a question.

“This case, it looks like darts,” said Harry, pointing to the holes in the wall around the doorway. “They hurt like hell. I've seen fire traps, spike traps, shock traps... one place there was a gas trap... wasted half my supply of healing potions after that one.”

The next chamber they entered featured a particularly tough Draugr, which required the efforts of all three of them to finally dispatch. While Mazhe searched the remains, Harry hauled himself up onto the edge of the sarcophagus to catch his breath. He had been in enough Nordic ruins, but this one... everything about it felt strange.

“Need a break?” Mazhe asked, as he got to his feet.

“Just a few minutes.”

“What's on your mind?”

“We've been in enough of these ruins, you and I. It feel weird to you?”

Mazhe gave a slow nod.

“Compared to others, yeah, I agree. These things are tougher here. We've fought more than a fistful at once easily in other places... but this one alone... Talos preserve us...” he shook his head. “We get swarmed with ones this strong, Harry, you might want to make an emergency port key.”

“I always have one on me.”

They pushed into another short corridor, where Mazhe was again forced to trigger two floor symbols, these ones a purple shade—shock runes, capable of delivering a severe electric shock to the individual who stepped on it.

“Woah. Different,” said Tommy, looking around at the wide corridor they entered.

“The Nords call this the _Hall of Stories_ ,” said Mazhe, “The pictures on the walls, of course, tell some kind of story, though exactly what, no one knows nowadays. Most of the time there's a puzzle door at the other end—err... it requires a special key to open it as well as a combination, much like—“

“These,” said Harry, pointing to another set of movable pillars.

“Yes, exactly. So the principle is the same as the last. Change the pillar to match the picture behind it.”

Mazhe demonstrated by approaching the pillar furthest from the door on the right side of the hall, and turning it to face correctly—a whale, in this case. However, when Tommy moved the pillar directly opposite, all four of the pillars turned.

“Well. That's a new one.”

“Harry, try changing that one.” Mazhe pointed to the pillar closest to the door on the left side. Harry changed it, resulting in the two pillars on the right side of the corridor also changing.

“And if I'm guessing correctly, that one—” he pointed to the pillar closest to the door on the right side, “Likely changes both on that side. Tommy, shift your pillar so it's right.”

Tommy did so.

“Harry...”

Harry changed the second pillar, while Tommy moved to the third. Now that they had figured out what was happening, it took only a few seconds to get the pillars facing the right way. Mazhe threw the lever this time, and the gate opened.

“Hold up there, boys!”

Tolfdir had caught up to them, and his timing couldn't have been more timely. If they had believed they'd seen the most spectacular part of Saarthal, the enormous chamber they stepped into proved them wrong. The entrance had led them onto a balcony overlooking a vast chamber, and the object suspended in mid-air at the centre of said chamber instantly had their attention.

“Well now. Would you look at that,” said Tolfdir, astounded. “I never imagined we'd find something like this!”

“It's... wild,” said Tommy. The object was spherical, perhaps ten feet in diameter, surrounded by writhing blue-green magic. There seemed to be some sort of blue magical curtain shimmering around it.

Tolfdir looked puzzled.

“Why is this buried so far within Saarthal?”

“Well... certainly doesn't look all that dangerous. Truly magnificent, if I say so,” said Mazhe. He was clearly impressed.

“Perhaps we should get a closer look,” Tolfdir decided.

As the four of them began to descend the stairs, they realized they weren't alone. A single Draugr had been seated in a throne-like chair, and he was getting up. He wore a helm with long, thin horns on it which stood almost vertical.

“Shit,” Harry cursed, and sent an ice spike at it. He was stunned, as the projectile simply shattered on impact, not leaving a mark.

“Great. Any ideas?”

Mazhe attempted to attack it with his fire, but it had the same result. An enemy invulnerable to magical attacks. Worse, when Tommy attempted to attack it, he was not prepared for what happened next.

“ _Fus... RO DAAAAAAAH_!!!”

The chamber actually vibrated from the monster's words that came out as a god-awful shout that reverberated around the chamber, and Tommy was quite literally thrown across the chamber to impact with a sarcophagus. He fell to the ground and did not move.

“NO!!” Harry erupted, and unleashed a barrage of frosty bolts. Unfortunately, even driven by anger, the onslaught had no effect, and they were forced to duck, as the powerful Draugr unleashed deadly magic of his own.

“Together Harry!” Mazhe shouted, readying his fire spell. Harry did the same, and together they launched a second volley of powerful destructive magic. That, however, was just as fruitless, as it seemed the monster was completely immune to any sort of magical attack. This went on for several minutes, with the elderly mage throwing in his own magical attacks for good measure.

“Stop,” Tolfdir finally said, “The orb. He must be drawing power from the orb. Keep him occupied for a few moments while I try something.”

Harry cast a worried glance toward his fallen friend, but again focused his ice spikes on the enemy, while Tolfdir began casting spells at the orb.

“ _Fus... RO DAAAH_!” the Draugr shouted again, but this time they were ready for it, and got clear of the blast before they were sent flying.

“There! Now attack it!” Tolfdir exclaimed.

Harry and Mazhe needed no prompting, but nailed the powerful enemy with ice and fire, respectively. Unfortunately, it seemed only Mazhe's attack had any effect. Even somehow weakened, it was immune to the ice.

“Hit it again. My attacks have no effect.”

_FWOOSH_! Mazhe didn't hesitate, and once again set the powerful Draugr on fire. It stumbled a moment, then turned an orange shade, and stood up. When Mazhe next attacked it, there was no effect.

“What the hell are you?!” Mazhe demanded.

“No use. It's immune to your attacks as well.”

“Try casting yours again, Harry.”

“NO. Enough of this. _REDUCTO_!!” Harry shouted, a hand thrust toward the enemy's head.

The red bolt of angry magic impacted with the Draugr's face, and it exploded in a gory mess. The body seemed to stand there without its head for a moment, before slumping to the ground.

“Tommy!” Harry exclaimed, practically flying across the room to kneel beside his fallen friend. There was blood coming out of his nose, and Harry feared the worst. 'Don't be dead...' He pushed the sleeve of Tommy's jacket up and felt for a pulse. It was weak.

“Look after your friend,” said Tolfdir, “Mazhe, if you could return to the College. The Arch-mage needs to know about this at once.”

“We... I... _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” Harry muttered, gesturing at Tommy. He became rigid as a statue. “I... I need help getting him inside the chest... No, on second thought... Dobby!”

It took several seconds, but the excitable elf appeared in front of Harry.

“Harry Potter sir call for Dobby?”

“I need you to side-Apparate the lot of us back to the College. Can you do that?”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. Mazhe had been searching the body of the Draugr, but quickly joined them. He had collected a staff, an amulet fragment, and a page of parchment.

“Is Harry Potter sir and his friend ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

They vanished with a noisy POP, to reappear in Harry's rooms in the Hall of Attainment.

“Thanks, Dobby.”

“What can I do?” Mazhe asked.

“Just... I... I got this. Go find Savos Aren, let him know what's going on.”

“Harry? What... shit, what happened?!” Justin was alarmed, seeing Tommy being bound as he was.

“I'll show you a pensieve memory soon as I can. We need a healer here soon as possible... healing potions... lots of healing potions...”

Harry spoke the last bit mostly to himself, and only then realized he was literally shaking.

“Harry. He'll be fine. Your healers are better at stuff like that than anyone I know of here,” said Mazhe, trying to reassure his best friend.

Justin, meanwhile, was already at the fireplace, making a fire call. There was, of course, a real chance of one of them being injured, Skyrim being what it was. It was only natural that procedure had been put in place that would deal with such a scenario.

Only a few seconds after Justin withdrew from the fire, the fireplace roared to life, and Healer Ferris stepped out of it, followed by a tall wizard.

“Mr. Potter. What happened?” Healer Ferris asked.

“H-he was blasted across a room, impacted with a stone sarcophagus,” Harry explained, not looking up.

“Likely concussive injuries,” said the male healer, drawing his wand. “Patient immobilized?”

“Yes sir.”

Both healers began casting spells to determine the extent of Tommy's injuries. Mazhe watched for a minute or so, but then left, headed for the Hall of the Elements to track down the Arch-mage.

The exam took several minutes to complete.

“Mr. Riordan is very lucky,” said Healer Ferris, “He looks in worse shape than he's in. We'll need to administer Skele-Gro to heal his pelvic bone, and repair a broken arm, but everything else just needs a few healing potions. He'll need to remain off his feet for the next two days.”

Harry looked instantly relieved.

“No head injuries or anything like that?” Justin asked.

“No, he was very lucky. He may be disoriented for the next few hours, but nothing that won't go away with a bit of rest,” said the wizard.

Healer Ferris was already using her wand to levitate Tommy over to his compartment. A gesture from her wand, and he was tucked in under the covers. She then retrieved a bottle from her satchel, and gently pried his mouth open. She poured a small amount into his mouth, and stroked his throat to get him to swallow it.

She waited a few minutes, while Harry and Justin looked on, before pulling out another bottle from her satchel. This one was used in its entirety.

“This I'll leave here. Every six hours, he'll need a cup full. These, once every four hours, the entire bottle,” said Healer Ferris, indicating the various bottles she was setting out on the small stand.

“Thank you, miss Ferris.”

“If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact us through the floo. Or... heavens. You all have mobile phones now. Let me give you my number so you can just call us, much faster that way.” Healer Ferris dug into her satchel and pulled out a small card, and passed it over.

“Oh. Brilliant.”

“I'll be by again tomorrow to have a look and make sure everything's healing up. You have pain-relieving potions and sleeping draughts on hand?”

“Yeah. Those we keep lots of,” said Justin.

“Very well. Floo or call if his condition worsens,” said Healer Ferris. The wizard was already activating the floo. They were gone within seconds.

Harry blew out a breath, then dragged a chair over from the table, and parked it by Tommy's compartment. He was still out of sorts with what had just happened—an enemy that was completely invulnerable to any sort of magical attack. That was unheard of, at least until now. And what sort of spell used the power of the caster's voice? What did it say again? 'Fus... something... ?' _Fus_. Force. It was speaking in the dragon tongue. Perhaps... no. He was certain! That monster had used a _dragon shout_ on one of his closest friends.

* * *

_11 Hearthfire, 4E200_

_Ron and Hermione,_

_Sounds like things are really deteriorating there. Umbridge named High Inquisitor? Inspecting the teachers? Look after Hagrid when he returns, right? We know what kind of things he likes to use in his lessons. Equally, keep your heads down. Gods, I'm truly thankful I'm not there. I know for a fact she would be gunning straight for me, knowing how things generally work out as far as my affairs are concerned._

_We've had a little bit of excitement here at the College, putting it mildly. I've included a picture, and how we uncovered it is quite a tale, I'll show you a pensieve memory next time we get together—hopefully at Christmas. Long story short, we encountered probably the toughest Draugr to date (I've mentioned those things a few times, right?). It was immune to just about any kind of magic we could throw at it—at least as far as what I've learned in Skyrim. I resorted to something I learned away from the College. The 'reducto' curse is quite effective in exploding a Draugr's head... no matter_ how _tough it might be._

_Unfortunately, I thought of that a little too late, as the monster managed to use some sort of ancient magic—a dragon shout—on Tommy. When it happened, I thought it killed him, as he was literally blown across the room and slammed into the lid of a coffin. I've never encountered that sort of magic before, but it's bloody scary—to harm someone with only the power of your voice?_

_Tommy's been laid out for two and a half days now. I'm actually sitting beside his compartment here in our suite as I write this. He complains a lot, but Healer Ferris wants to be sure everything heals up nicely before he's up and about too much. Me, I'm still worried that one of these days, I'll lose him... because of something exactly like this sort of thing. There's so much here that we don't know about. I truly fear for him. He's not magical, but he won't even conceive of being locked away while I put myself in harm's way. Justin says he's been working on something, but really... unless it can let him use magic somehow, I don't know what good it'll do._

_Shit, I'm rambling, and Mazhe just got back—looking a little worse for the wear. I'll sign off for now, but keep in touch._

_Love, always,_

_Harry_

 

“Shall I send for healers?” Harry asked, taking in Mazhe's roughed up appearance.

“No. No, it's fine. The wild book chase was a little more challenging than expected though.”

Mazhe pulled out three volumes from his satchel, and stacked them on the table.

“We might need to prank Ancano's bed again, he's been asking some irritating questions again.”

“Really? No, pranking his bed got old after the first time. I'll talk to Sirius,” said Harry. He again regarded his friend. “What happened?”

“I truly wish I could Apparate such as you can, Harry. Gods... you remember Fellglow Keep?”

“That fort east of Whiterun,” Harry remembered.

“Full of warlocks, conjurers and their minions, and this woman they were calling 'the caller'. Orthan lasted about three seconds when we went toe to toe with her. She almost did me in three or four times before I got her with this.”

Mazhe held out his hand, and a ball of sparking energy formed in it.

“You got it to work.”

“The bitch lit up like a Christmas tree when I nailed her with it.”

“She got a real charge out of it then.,” Harry grinned, to which Mazhe smirked.

“Anyway. Best get over to the Arcaneum, Urag will want to see these.” He gestured to the stack of books he'd placed on the table.

“Fix yourself up first. You look you had it out with a sabre cat.”

“What do you call this?” Mazhe smirked and pointed to the nasty scars on his face. He collected the books and was gone before Harry could tag him with a tickling jinx.

About two hours later, Mazhe returned to Harry's set of rooms, to find Tommy was up on his feet—or at least, sitting at the table with Harry.

“Feeling better, are we?”

“Good enough.”

“Tolfdir wants to see us in the Hall of the Elements. They're studying the orb we found in Saarthal.”

“Sure.”

It took a few minutes as warm sweaters were now needed outside, and they crossed the circular courtyard, into the Hall of the Elements, wherein the strange orb now took up the centre of the cavernous room. A crowd of students of various skill levels were all gathered around it, as was Tolfdir.

“Feeling better, Mr. Riordan?” he asked.

“Well enough, thank you.”

“So this is what you guys found in Saarthal,” said Justin, his gaze not leaving the object. “It radiates power like the Orb of Magnus.”

“Shit, he's right,” said Harry, “Exactly like that.”

Harry had most certainly seen the most sacred object in the Commonwealth. This looked and behaved exactly like it.

“Indeed it is immensely powerful,” Tolfdir agreed, “I just can't seem to tear myself away. Whatever this is, its beauty is like nothing I've ever seen before. If you'd all allow me to indulge myself for a moment, I thought I might make a few observations...”

Tolfdir got closer to the orb.

“I'm sure most of you have already noticed the markings. They're quite unlike anything we've seen before. Ayleid, Dwemer, Daedric... Not even Falmer. None of them are a match. Quite curious indeed.”

He reached up a hand, almost daring to touch the energy radiating from it.

“Now, I'm not sure that you're quite as attuned as I am—with the exception of Harry and his friends—given my extensive years of experience, but can you feel that? This marvellous object. It practically _radiates_ magicka, and yet it's unlike anything I've felt before.”

He stepped back from it. Harry mentally groaned, seeing Ancano pushing his way through the gathered students. They were about to be interrupted.

“Arch-Mage Aren is already hard at work, and hopefully we'll have more information soon. Now, I...”

“I'm afraid I must intrude,” Ancano interrupted, coming to stand between Harry and Tolfdir, “It is urgent that I speak with your associates here immediately.”

Tolfdir opened his mouth to protest, but Harry beat him to the punch.

“His 'associates',” Harry mocked, putting air brackets around 'associates'. “I strongly doubt anything you have to say is more important than the lecture my fellow students and I are attending. You need to speak to me, see me after we're done.”

In any other circumstance, that would normally humble the haughty elf, and send him scurrying off to find a softer target. But this situation was not one of those.

“Yes, yes, I've no doubt of its gravity. This, however, is a matter that cannot wait, Potter. You and your company will follow me. Now.”

“What business could possibly be more important than this lesson, Ancano?” Mazhe questioned, equally hostile toward the elf.

“With Mazhe here,” Harry agreed, “What's going on that's got you willing to risk bodily harm to insert your nose into my business?”

You could hear a pin drop, save for the hum coming from the orb at the centre of the room, the tension so thick you could almost cut it with a knife. Harry and his group's frigid relationship with the haughty elf was quite well known by this point. Justin's hand was itching toward his wand holster.

“Well, allow me to clarify the situation,” Ancano sneered, “I'd like to know why there's someone claiming to be from the Psijic Order here in the College. More importantly, I'd like to know why he's asking for you pair specifically. So we're going to go have a little chat with him, and find out exactly what it is he wants.”

“You mean, the pair of us will be having a conversation with him,” said Harry, motioning toward Mazhe, “If the Psijic Order has asked to see us, then very well. It's not the first time we've spoken with one of their members. Where may we find him?”

“You will follow me.”

“The point of Harry asking is so that we can seek him out... _alone_ ,” said Mazhe. “Your attendance is neither needed nor wanted.”

“How dare you—“

“Try me,” Harry hissed, a white glow instantly forming in his hand. “You know my curses are most painful.”

“As are mine, human!” Ancano snapped, matching Harry's show of force.

He was, however, not prepared for the reaction, as nearly three quarters of the students present also armed themselves, dangerous magic appearing at their fingertips. It was a known fact that none of the students at the College appreciated the Thalmor agent's presence.

“Perhaps it might be best if you just let Harry know where he might find our important visitor, Ancano,” said Tolfdir, calmly. Inside, he was more than impressed at how his youngest student was dealing with the thorn in the College's side.

“This is not over,” Ancano growled, “Find him with the Arch-mage in his quarters.”

“Thank you. _Petrificus Totalus_!”

Ancano fell over like a tree, his arms and legs snapping together tightly.

“I'd rather him not try and follow us. Anyone care to see to him until we get back?”

J'zargo and Enthir were quite happy to take on the responsibility, while Harry, Mazhe, Justin, and Tommy made their exit.

They took little time to climb the stairs up to the Arch-Mage's quarters, where indeed, Savos Aren was waiting, as was a wizard dressed in golden robes with crimson-trim. Both he and Harry were not surprised, when everything seemed to warp strangely, and the others vanished.

“Gods... not this again,” Harry muttered. “Where is everyone?”

“I'd simply like to talk to you,” answered the stranger.

“But... what... what did you do?” Mazhe asked, confused.

“I've given us a chance to speak privately, but I'm afraid I can't do this for long. We must be brief. The situation here at your College is of dire importance, and attempts to contact either of you as we have previously have failed. I believe it is due to the very source of our concern. This object... The _Eye of Magnus_ as your people have taken to calling it. The energy coming from it has prevented us from reaching you with the visions you have already seen. The longer it remains here, the more dangerous the situation becomes. And so I have come here personally to tell the pair of you it must be dealt with.”

“I still don't understand. What does it have to do with us?” Harry asked.

“You set this chain of events in motion at Saarthal,” answered the stranger, “You must understand, the Psijic Order does not typically... intervene directly in events. My presence here will be seen as an affront to some within the Order, and as soon as we have finished, I will be leaving your College. I'm all too aware that my arrival has aroused suspicion, especially in Ancano, your Thalmor associate—“

“He's not our associate,” Harry scowled, “As soon as I can figure out a way, I'll have him out of here. Just about everyone here hates his guts.”

“Yes... well... him being attached to your College in any capacity, he has grown suspicious. Nevertheless, my Order will not act directly. You must take it upon yourself to do so.”

“Why should we trust your Order?” Mazhe asked.

“I presume you refer to Ancano's distaste for the Psijic Order?” the stranger answered, “The Thalmor see our Order as a threat because we have power, and we will not allow them to control us. I assure you that we mean you no harm.”

“So what exactly is the problem?”

“As you may have learned, this object... The Eye... is immensely powerful. This world is not ready for it. If it remains here, it will be misused. Indeed, many in the Order believe it has already... Rather, something will happen soon, something that cannot be avoided.”

“Wh—what do you expect from us, then?” Harry asked.

“We believe the your efforts should be directed towards dealing with the aftermath, but we cannot predict what that will be.”

“Can he get any more cryptic?” Mazhe muttered, growing impatient. “Look. Can you at least point us in some sort of direction? If you're telling us this, then there must be something we can do to... stave off whatever disaster is lurking in our future.”

“I fear I have already overstepped the bounds of my Order, but I will offer this: seek out the Augur of Dunlain here in your College. His perception may be more coherent than ours.”

“The Augur of Dunlain,” Harry repeated. “Where can we find this 'Augur'?”

“I... I am unsure. He is somewhere within the College. Surely one of your colleagues must know his location. I am sorry I cannot provide you with further help, but this conversation requires a great deal of effort on my part,” answered the stranger.

“Who is he?”

“He was once a student here at the College. Now he is... something different,” the stranger hedged.

Harry could hear Mazhe grinding his teeth again. The man was really irritating him.

“Now, I am afraid I must leave you. We will continue to watch over you, and guide you as best we can,” said the stranger, “It is within you to succeed. Never forget that.”

Before either of them could get a word in edgewise, the stranger simply vanished, and they found themselves in the company of Tommy, Justin, and the Arch-Mage.

“What... I... I'm... I'm not sure what happened,” said the Arch-Mage, looking confused, “A monk from the Psijic Order, here, after all these years, and then he just leaves? I hope we didn't offend him somehow.”

“No, sir,” Harry answered, “Gods... just... let me pull out my chest and fetch my pensieve. Maybe you might be able to make better sense of what just happened better than the pair of us. But no, we didn't offend him if that's what you're concerned about.”

“It was like back in Saarthal,” Tommy guessed, while Harry produced his chest and restored it to its proper size.

“Exactly like Saarthal. And I really hate people who talk in circles,” Harry muttered, as he opened the lid. He climbed in, and was gone, but his voice still carried from inside. “Why don't you come down here, we can sit down rather than stand around.”

Ten minutes later, the Arch-Mage leaned back in the seat, thinking over what he had just seen. The _Eye of Magnus_ , as it was being called, actually dangerous? That thought had certainly occurred to him. And it seemed the future was in the hands of his two youngest but brightest students. The last bit though. The Augur of Dunlain? Wasn't that simply a fabrication? A story?

“Ask Tolfdir about the Augur. I believed up until now he was simply telling stories. It seems that perhaps I owe my colleague a sincere apology.”

“We're all allowed to make mistakes now and then, sir,” said Harry.

It was the following morning before the group was able to search out the Augur. Tolfdir had been more than helpful, directing them to the Midden, a sort of under croft below the College itself. He had made it a point to carefully explain the dangers that could be lurking in the space, but none of them were fazed by such things. It meant exercising caution, just like entering any other sort of ruin.

The form the Augur took was completely unexpected, but the group fought through the distraction to ask some very pointed questions, of which garnered useful answers. Indeed, the entity knew a bit more about what was going on than the Psijic monk, and more importantly, Harry and his friends weren't the first to visit. Ancano had already been there, with some very different questions. With profuse thank-yous, they departed to seek out the Arch-Mage at once.

They found him in the Hall of Elements, gazing at the very object of contention. Tolfdir was there as well, along with a number of students, and they were engaged in research, collecting as much information as they could from the strange object. Additionally, Guardian Elaine was there, along with a few other Guardians of the Magnus, likely comparing the object with the Commonwealth's orb.

“Sir?” Harry asked.

“What did you find out from the Augur?” asked the Arch-Mage.

“It probably sounds ridiculous, but we need to find the Staff of Magnus.”

The Arch-Mage frowned. “Is that so? He specifically mentioned that particular staff?”

“Yes sir,” answered Mazhe.

“Well. Something as specific and ancient as the Staff of Magnus... I'm not sure we'd ever find something like that...”

He seemed to think for a moment.

“I seem to recall Mirabelle mentioning the staff somewhat recently. Why don't you see if she can tell you anything?”

“Know where we might find her right now?”

“Right now? Out in the courtyard, I believe.”

“Thank you sir.”

Harry, meanwhile, met up with Guardian Elaine.

“This is truly remarkable, Harry,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the orb, “It's identical in every way except size and colour. Right down to the markings.”

“So whatever this is, it's a twin to the Orb of Magnus,” Harry said.

“If that were a wager, you would likely win handily.”

“Curious, though, the Psijic Order either isn't aware or doesn't care about the orb the Commonwealth has.”

“Perhaps it is because Valicadia has only used the orb for positive purposes,” Tolfdir mused, “The orb you possess has been used to do great things, but none of it of malicious nature.”

“Nor has this one, sir... at least not yet.”

“Mazhe, remember what the Psijic monk said though... not something that has happened, but something that will,” Harry reminded him.

Mirabelle was not out in the courtyard, and in fact, they found her in her quarters.

“Harry. What can I help you with?” she asked.

“The Arch-Mage sent me actually. He said you might have a bit of information about the Staff of Magnus.”

“I see. Well yes, I suppose I did mention it, though I'm not sure what he expects me to tell you. I only brought it to his attention a few months back when the Synod showed up here looking for it. You likely don't recall their visit.”

She got shaking heads and blank stares from the group.

“Well. They were apparently under the impression we were keeping it in a closet somewhere.”

“Who are the Synod?” Mazhe questioned.

“Mages based out of Cyrodiil,” Mirabelle explained, “They fancy themselves the Imperial Authority on magic these last few hundred years. My understanding is that all they really do is make noise in an attempt to curry favour from the Emperor. Lots of politics, little magic. I was quite surprised to find them on our doorstep. They seemed amiable enough, but their line of questioning made me... uneasy. It became clear they're trying to hoard powerful artifacts, looking to consolidate power.”

“So no one here knows where the staff is,” Harry summarized.

“No one here does. The Synod seemed convinced it was somewhere in Skyrim. They enquired about the ruins of Mzulft, but that's all I remember. It sounded like they were heading there, though they were rather secretive about why. I suppose if you're intent on looking for the staff, there's a chance they might be in Mzulft yet. Just don't expect them to be cooperative.”

“Great. I guess it's off to Mzulft, then. Know where it is, exactly?” Mazhe pulled his tattered map out of his satchel.

“If I have it correctly, it should be somewhere here,” Mirabelle answered, pointing a finger at a spot south and a little east of Windhelm.

“Thanks, you've been brilliant as always.”

“Go away Harry, your charms won't work on me.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at her and the group was gone.

There had been a bit of discussion on how to get there, but in the end it was decided they would all take a port key to the stables outside of Windhelm. Then they would fly the rest of the way, it being much easier to spot things from the air. It was just before lunchtime when they arrived at the ruins, its distinctive towers making it easy to spot from a distance.

As soon as they landed, Harry immediately stowed his broom away, then pulled out his chest and restored it to its proper size. They climbed in after Harry erected a few protective wards to prevent anyone or anything intruding on the chest while they were hidden inside. They ate lunch, then it was back outside of the chest, and into the ruins of Mzulft.

Inside, slumped against the interior door, lay a man in mages' robes. He let out a wheeze.

“Crystal... gone...”

The man was in his final moments, trying to get his breath. He wheezed a few more times.

“Find... Paratus... in Oculory...”

He was no more.

“Kynareth grant you safe passage through her realm,” Mazhe whispered, kneeling at the man's side.

“Door's locked,” said Tommy.

“Locked? _Alohomora_ ,” said Harry, a hand waved at the door. There was a subtle click.

“Guess we didn't need this then,” said Mazhe, holding up a key he'd recovered from the dead mage.

“Come on then, let's find this 'Paratus' fellow,” said Harry, and the group set off.

The ruin was extensive, much like Aftand had been, with numerous corridors, and more than its fair share of traps, Dwemer machinery, and constructs—spiders and spheres. The spiders tended to be the lesser of the two evils, but both could pack a dangerous punch, not to be taken lightly. However, the group was more than adept at handling the threats the automatons presented. Mazhe stopped using his shock spell when the first spider he nailed with it exploded rather spectacularly.

The scenery changed to a more earthen set of corridors, and this time, rather than Dwemer constructs, they encountered the Falmer—a twisted and corrupted version of the ancient Snow Elves. Blind, the rest of their senses had more than adapted for it, making them a tough enemy to fight, even one-on-one. A swarm of them meant real trouble.

They at last reached a large chamber with what seemed like a swarm of Falmer, including one particularly tough magic-caster who was more than adept with its frost. It was impossible to get any sort of focus on it, when the group was constantly dodging attacks from the others.

“ _Immobilus_!!” Harry finally commanded, and the room at once fell silent. “Getting really tired of this load of horse shit.”

With everything now frozen save for Harry's friends, the group took their time dispatching the remainder of the enemies in the chamber, including the particularly difficult leader. Mazhe searched its body, and found an orb of some sort, something akin to the attunement sphere Septimus had given him sometime before.

“We'll likely need it,” Tommy guessed, “wasn't the guy we found at the entrance muttering something about a crystal?”

“Agreed,” said Mazhe, “Let's carry on. We have to be getting close.”

They pushed on again, after Harry forced the door at the top of the large chamber. From there it was up a ramp, to another locked door. The moment Mazhe pushed on it, there came a voice from the other side.

“G...Gavros? Is that you? I'd almost given up hope. Let me get the door...”

There was a rattling of a key in the lock, and the doors swung open. The wizard behind it was clearly surprised and perhaps a little miffed at the group he now saw.

“What the? Who are you? Where's Gavros?” he demanded.

“We're sorry... but your friend Gavros is dead,” Harry answered, honestly.

“It was the Falmer, wasn't it? Curse them! They've ruined everything!” the wizard cursed, “If Gavros is gone, there's no hope. He was supposed to return with the crystal... Without that, all our efforts are wasted. And you. If you're here for treasure, or wisdom, or anything, I'm afraid you've wasted your time.”

“Focusing crystal. You mean, this?” Mazhe held up the orb he had recovered off of the particularly difficult Falmer.

“You found... how in the world...” the wizard looked impressed. “That's it. That's it! I don't know who you are, but you may have just saved this little project... In fact, who are you, anyway?”

“I'm Mazhe. This is Harry, Justin, and Tommy. We're with the College of Winterhold.”

“You are, are you?” the wizard sneered, “Savos wouldn't even grant us an audience when we came to you, but now you four come here expecting something from me?”

He let out a sigh, and relented somewhat.

“I don't much like this, I'll tell you. But you've saved my skin, so maybe I can overlook the past for now. Come on, I'll explain on the way.”

They listened to the Synod researcher prattle on about the project they were working on, as the five of them travelled down the corridor. It was clear the Synod researchers had set up a small encampment there—several mats were laid out on the floor on top of animal skins, and there were numerous items scattered about, supplies they were relying on while they were there.

They crossed a threshold into a high room, in which there was a massive spherical contraption. Harry guessed the room was between four and six storeys in height, with the sphere occupying half of it. The Synod researcher was then leading them up a long ramp up to the upper level of the chamber now, and it was clear he was getting excited.

“Here it is. Magnificent, isn't it?” he said, “Took an incredible amount of work to get it running again. Now I'm hoping it'll all be worth it. You there.”

He pointed a finger at Mazhe.

“Place the crystal in the central apparatus, and we can start the process for focusing it.”

“Right.”

Mazhe climbed up onto the top of the enormous contraption, with Tommy right behind. It was a good call, as he needed Tommy to give him a boost to reach the apparatus hanging from the ceiling.

“Is this where it's supposed to go?” Mazhe called, indicating the circular hole in the lowest ring.

“Yes, it should fit there, indeed,” said Paratus.

Mazhe pushed the orb into the hole, and the entire mechanism gave a great shudder, nearly toppling the pair.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, as the entire place seemed to hum with energy.

“Okay. Now what?” Mazhe questioned, as he and Tommy got down off the top of the machine.

“Now the crystal needs to be focused. It was created so far away, we knew that some adjustments would have to be made. Heating and cooling the crystal will cause it to expand or contract, which will change how the light passes through it. You'll need to use spells to do that. Being from the College, I assume you know them already. There should be a few basic tomes around here somewhere in case your training is even more sub-standard than—“

“I take exception to that!” Harry snarled, “LOOK. We didn't come here looking for a fight, but really...”

“Harry...” Mazhe placated him, “Not helping.”

However, he turned back to Paratus and gave him a creepy smile.

“You're really not helping us either. We could just smash that focusing crystal up there and be gone, and your little project or whatever you've put all this time into... would be ruined for good.”

Paratus gave the group a hateful glare, then relented. He realized, that really, it was four against one here. Four very well-built individuals completely unknown in skill. He might take one or two of them out, but in the end, it would be a battle lost. They would very likely paint the floor with his blood. He let out a sigh.

“Just cast your magic at it. You'll also need to align the mirrors using the controls up above. Once everything is lined up, the light will reflect back through the crystal. Then you'll see some real magic.”

“Harry... your frost is better than mine. You mind?” Mazhe asked.

“What do we do, just aim for the receptacle?” Harry asked.

“Yes, exactly,” Paratus answered curtly.

It took several minutes of Mazhe and Harry alternating between their frost and fire spells before Paratus was happy with the alignment of the central apparatus. He then directed them to begin shifting the mirrors on the ceiling to line up with the beams now being cast at it, three of them in total.

This was actually a little simpler, as it involved just pressing and holding the buttons to bring the three rings around to the right positions. It was noisy, but they bore the irritation until everything lined up correctly.

“Excellent, well done,” said Paratus, sounding a little excited now, “Years of work about to pay off... ...but what's this?”

Paratus frowned, glaring at the projection that now appeared on a nearby wall.

“These results... They're not at all what they should be. This projection should be lit up like the night sky... Something is creating an incredible amount of interference. Something in Winterhold, it looks like. What are you playing at? Is this some attempt to stall my work?!”

Paratus was enraged.

“So what is it? What have you done?”

“How about you calm the fuck down,” said Tommy, dangerously.

“Or we put you in a full body bind, simple as that,” said Harry, joining his friends. “We didn't come here to sabotage whatever it is you're trying to achieve. If you tell us what's wrong, maybe we can help fix the problem.”

“What's wrong? What's WRONG?!” Paratus fumed, “Everything is wrong! Everything! Whatever you have at that College has completely interfered with our work here.”

“What if that... the eye is doing it?” Tommy suggested, “That thing, whatever it is, it's pretty powerful, right?”

“What sort of eye?”

“The Eye of Magnus,” said Mazhe.

“The Eye of Magnus?”

Paratus seemed to think on that for a moment.

“Well, I suppose if that means what I think it does... Well, that's interesting...” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“If that's taken into account, these results make more sense. If you have the Eye, then you are looking for the staff, yes?”

“And we finally get to the point of the operation,” said Mazhe, rolling his eyes.

“Well, even if you are trying to ruin my work, there's still something to be learned here.”

“Guys, just... look at this, uh, projection,” said Tommy, pointing to the image magically imprinted on the wall, “It's not just the College that's lit up. What... what's that place there?”

He pointed to the second location that was broadcasting light like a beacon across the map.

“Labyrinthian, I think,” said Mazhe, pulling his map out and opening it, “Said to be the largest Nordic ruin in the province. I've not actually been there, but...”

“If the Eye's at the College, then—“ Harry began.

“The Staff's in Labyrinthian,” Mazhe finished.

“So, mage from Winterhold, despite your intentions I've beaten your little game,” said Paratus, trying and failing to sound menacing, “Even if all you've said here is lies, I know you have something in Winterhold the Synod Council will be very interested in. So fine, trudge off to Labyrinthian in search of your Staff. I shall return to Cyrodiil and deliver my full report to the Council. This is not over, I assure you.”

“Whatever you want to believe, man,” said Tommy, with a shrug.

“What he said,” Harry agreed, “C'mon, we'll Portkey back, Savos will want to know what we've found.”

Before Paratus could comment further, the four of them vanished right before his eyes, using what looked like a length of rope. He didn't even have a chance to question exactly what sort of magic could be so powerful. He was simply left there, bewildered, staring at the spot they'd vanished from.

The moment the four of them touched down in the courtyard of the College, the world again seemed to grind to a halt, and Mazhe and Harry once again found them in the presence of the Psijic mage.

“You have done well thus far, but trying times are ahead,” he spoke, “And now that you've returned to your College, you will be called on to take swift action. Rise to the challenge, and discover what you are capable of. You are on the right path, and you will both prevail.”

He vanished, and the world caught up to them.

“Another vision,” Justin guessed.

“We're about to be tested guys,” Mazhe warned them, “Be ready for anything. Let's go find the Arch-Mage.”

They found the Arch-Mage in the Hall of the Elements, along with Mirabelle. Alarming, some sort of barrier had pushed everyone to the edge of the room, cutting them off from the Eye of Magnus.

“Sir?” Mazhe asked, “What's going on?”

“Ancano has somehow locked himself in the hall. He's up to something, and I intend to put a stop to it. Help us get through this, will you? We're throwing everything we have at it.”

“Harry?” Mazhe simply asked.

“ _REDUCTO_!” Harry shouted, sending a blast of red magic to impact with the barrier. The last thing he remembered before darkness took him, was a tremendous roar, with everything becoming painfully bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: The College is reeling from the loss of one of their own, but there is no time to mourn, as the circle rushes off to Labyrinthian in search of the Staff of Magnus; and there, they face the most challenging ruin up to this point, with truly deadly enemies..._


	17. The Staff and the Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The College is reeling from the loss of one of their own, but there is no time to mourn, as the circle rushes off to Labyrinthian in search of the Staff of Magnus; and there, they face the most challenging ruin up to this point, with truly deadly enemies..._

**17\. THE STAFF AND THE EYE**

**September 11 – 12, 2005**

* * *

“Harry. Wake up, man.”

He could feel someone gently shaking him, but everything felt wrong. He dared open his eyes, and for a second, everything seemed to swim before his eyes.

Tommy was kneeling beside him, looking worried.

“You all right?”

“I... uh...” he reached into his satchel, and pulled out a healing potion, popped the cork, and consumed it. “Better now. Where... where's everyone else?”

“Dunno. Mazhe's missing, so is Justin... Mirabelle, she's... over there,” said Tommy, casting a glance to a spot not far from them.

Harry got into a sitting position.

“Mirabelle?”

“Harry. Can you get up? I need you on your feet, we're in trouble here,” she said, shaken.

“Yeah... think I know that. Where... where's the Arch-Mage?”

“It's part of the problem. Ancano's doing something with the Eye. We can't stop him. I haven't seen the Arch-Mage since the explosion. I need you pair to find him,” said Mirabelle, gravely.

“Are you hurt?”

“Harry, I'll see to myself. Now GO. Find Savos!”

“C'mon.” Tommy scrambled to his feet, then helped Harry up off the floor. Mirabelle was right—they could see the haughty Altmer inside of the protective barrier, casting magic at the Eye of Magnus. For the time being, there was no way to deal with him.

A quick scan of the room uncovered no other victims, so it appeared everyone else had been blown outside—the damaged doors leading out to the courtyard were more than enough evidence. They had been blown out spectacularly, a tall feat, considering how heavy they were. They were just barely still on the hinges. A crowd had gathered not far outside of them.

“Step aside!” Harry ordered, and the crowd made a hole.

“Harry. Gods. You're both all right?” Mazhe asked. He was covered in scratches, but otherwise not injured, such was Justin, who stood shakily beside him, consuming a healing potion.

“Yeah, fine. A little shook up, but... _oh no_.”

His eyes found the reason for everyone gathering around. Savos Aren lay crumpled on the ground, barely conscious. Harry knelt beside the Arch-Mage, and began rooting through his satchel for healing potions.

“It is too late, my dear boy,” Savos whispered, shakily reaching a hand to forestall Harry's efforts. “Both of you... come closer a moment.”

Mazhe joined Harry kneeling by the fallen Arch-Mage.

“You know... where to find the Staff, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Mazhe answered quietly.

“You'll... need it, I think... if you are to defeat... Ancano... Both of you... more than capable of it. Proud of both of you... Harry... came a long way... since joining us. You can be much more... but you know that already. Tell... Tell Mirabelle... she is... she will know... what to do.”

His chest rose and fell one final time, and he fell limp.

As much as he fought to prevent it, he could not, and Harry felt a warm tear slide down his cheek in spite of himself.

“Harry, Mazhe... Gods, the Arch-Mage dead...” Tolfdir was equally upset. “There's more. Something's happened to Winterhold. It must be whatever Ancano did. You need to get out there and make sure it's safe.”

“C'mon... let's... we need to fix it then,” said Mazhe, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze. There would be time to mourn later.

Harry rubbed his eyes, then climbed to his feet. He collected himself and gathered his resolve.

“This mess is our doing, our College's doing. Who comes with us to set things to rights?!”

“I do,” said Enthir.

“This one joins,” said J'zargo.

“And so will I,” Onmund joined in.

In fact, it was quite the substantial group which crossed the bridge back into the village of Winterhold. Harry was right. Even unintentionally, it was something at the College which had brought misery to the village. It was exactly this sort of thing which brought scorn and distrust on the College.

Tolfdir was right: there were white streaks of light meandering through the street, and thus far at least a quarter of the village guards lay dead having tried to deal with them.

“ _Sonorus_ ,” Harry whispered, pressing his wand to his throat, “Town of Winterhold, everyone go indoors while we deal with the problem. Do not try and fight these things, they will kill you. _Quietus_.”

There had been about three dozen of the anomalies, but with the number of students and teachers, it was not that difficult to deal with. Tommy was a bit like a fish out of water here, but Justin put him in charge of seeing to anyone who might be injured. Four residents of the village found themselves rescued by his hand, pulled into the Jarl's longhouse to be treated for their injuries.

“Harry. We'll stay here. Get back to the College and let them know what's going on,” said Faralda.

“You sure?”

“Go. We'll look after things here and deal with any more of these things if they appear.”

“Right. Come on guys.”

They found Mirabelle outside in the courtyard as a few of the older students were then getting ready to move the fallen Arch-Mage and prepare him for burial.

“Winterhold is safe for now,” Mazhe reported, “Faralda and some of the others are staying behind to make sure no more of those things appear.”

“Wish I could say the same for us,” answered Mirabelle, “Tolfdir and I can try and keep this contained. You need to get your hands on the Staff of Magnus. Now.”

“Then I guess we're off to Labyrinthian,” said Harry.

That earned a shocked look from Mirabelle.

“What? Are you... are you sure the staff is there? That can't be a coincidence.”

“Why do you say that?” Harry asked.

“The Arch-Mage. He... He gave me something just a little while ago.”

Mirabelle looked puzzled for a moment, then dug in her own satchel, pulling out what looked like a stone ring of some sort.

“He told me this was from Labyrinthian, and that I would know what to do with it when the time came. I think... I think he meant this for you, then. I'm not sure why, but there was something very personal about it for him. Take it, and get out of here. Bring back that staff before Ancano brings the whole College down around us.”

“We'll be back as soon as we can,” Mazhe promised. “Harry, you know what direction we need to go in... how about you fly your broom there, it'll probably be faster.”

“Good thinking. Mazhe, you can ride on the back with me. Justin, you mind carrying Tommy?”

“No, not a problem. Best fetch our brooms then,” Justin answered, “We should also try and get Brandon and Eric back. If this place we're going to is in any way as dangerous as Saarthal...”

Harry produced his chest and set it on the ground. “You want to make the call, go ahead. But I don't think we really have time to wait for them to get here.” He touched it with a hand, restoring it to proper size.

Justin, meanwhile, pulled out his mobile. He frowned when he went to make the connection.

“Okay, that's weird. Not getting any kind of signal.”

“That thing in there's probably fucking up the signal. Bet the fireplace doesn't work right now either,” Tommy guessed.

“He's probably right,” Harry agreed. “Guys...” he indicated the lid.

The flight took several hours, and it was nearly dark by the time they got to the outer edge of the ruin. Entering a Nordic ruin at any time of day was dangerous enough. Doing so at night was far worse. However, given the urgency of matters, they really didn't have a whole lot of choice, and so the four of them set down just outside the large archway leading into the ruin. Spotting a small circular structure, they took cover there, and Harry again produced his chest.

Inside, they all took the time to have something to eat and get refreshed, since a clear head would be a necessity from this point forward.

“Best pull out all the healing potions we have, Harry,” said Mazhe, as they sat at the table, “No clue what we're gonna find inside this place.”

“Can't agree more. If we weren't in a hurry I'd love to have a poke around, it looks fascinating—at least outside.”

“Lots of time to come back later, Harry,” said Mazhe.

“That is true. What I remember reading, Labyrinthian was at one time known as Bromjunaar,” said Harry.

“Yes, some believe it was the capital of Skyrim back during the rule of the Dragon Cult.”

Tommy arched an eyebrow. “Dragon Cult. Seriously?”

“Very much so,” said Mazhe, “It is known that the highest ranking Dragon Priests met there to discuss matters of rule and so on.”

“They worshipped dragons.”

“Not too much is known of the culture, but yes.”

“I think that sounds like self preservation,” said Justin, “Tow the line or be killed.”

“Likely. Though again, not a whole lot is known how the Dragon Cult formed, or the makeup of its membership,” Mazhe answered.

“These undead—the Draugr... if they can speak the dragon language, maybe they were members of this dragon cult.”

“Possible. But I think we're all in agreement here, nowadays, they're vicious and hostile. They can't be reasoned with, they have to be destroyed, end of story.”

Tommy shook his head.

“Don't think Mazhe was suggesting we have a heart to heart with one.”

Harry couldn't help but let out a laugh.

“Gods. Can see it now, asking the one we encountered in Sarthaal. _Oi, you there. Care for a spot of tea?_ ”

“Now that's a crazy visual,” said Mazhe, shaking his head.

“Hmph. No, I see enough crazy visuals on a daily basis,” Tommy muttered between bites, “Uh, good example... keep seein' Harry coming out of the bathroom twice.”

“Maybe he really needed to go,” said Mazhe, with a smirk.

“He goes in once, but comes out twice. Ain't right...”

“Maybe he's become addicted to dreamless sleep potions,” said Mazhe.

“And you're full of shit.”

With the meal finished, the four of them quickly exited the trunk, although they did exercise caution and make as little noise as possible. With it past nightfall, there was no telling what exactly might call the area outside the ruins home. More than likely, nothing here would be friendly.

“Quiet or not, we still need a light,” Mazhe whispered, and flung a hand at the ceiling. A glowing sphere latched there, bathing the space in an even, soft light.

“Hey look at this,” said Harry, kneeling beside some skeletal remains. There was a tattered note, as well as what looked like a mask of some sort.

“Never seen anything like that before,” Mazhe agreed, “Careful, Harry.”

“I know.”

Harry opened the parchment, and skimmed it, still holding the mask in his other hand.

“Well, this is strange. It sounds like there are more of these. And it acts something like my invisibility cloak, but even better. The wearer disappears completely.” Before anyone could react, he put the mask on. He vanished.

“Harry?!”

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy muttered, equally shocked.

“Gods... Harry? C'mon, this isn't funny,” said Mazhe. All of them were gravely concerned at this point.

Then, as quickly as he'd vanished, he reappeared, with a goofy grin on his face. “Guys! You gotta see this!”

“Are you crazy?!” Mazhe fumed, “You could've been killed!”

“Just grab onto me, I'll show you,” Harry promised. Mazhe huffed, but gripped his friend's shoulder. Tommy and Justin were equally unimpressed, but reluctantly followed Mazhe's example. Harry again put the mask on, and the four of them vanished.

They reappeared in a very close representation of the room they had just left, save for one important factor: everything looked pristine, brand new.

“Gods...” Mazhe muttered, “It's as if... we've travelled back in time.”

Tommy was doubtful. “Time travel? You're shittin' me.”

“Oh believe me, it's very possible. I know the Orb is capable of it, and there is something in our own world that's capable,” Harry answered.

“So what is this place?” Justin wondered, “What would these things be for?”

“Yeah, agreed. But this would be a brilliant hiding place. Looks like there's no way in or out, other than... the mask. C'mon, grab on again, we'll get back to... well, where we belong.”

They reappeared back in the ruined room, and Harry stuffed the mask in his rucksack.

“Really gotta think sometimes,” said Justin, shaking his head, “It could've took you who knows where... 'specially considering what happened in the spring...”

“Sometimes I just go with my gut. You know that. I trusted what I read, and... just how to exploit it now. This place could be very useful.”

“Getting way off track here,” said Mazhe, casting Harry another dirty look. Of course, he had certainly done his fair share of stupid things, but it didn't mean he felt any less afraid for the safety of his closest friend.

Tommy was equally unimpressed with Harry's actions, but Mazhe was right. They had a job to do. He took a step, and almost did a face plant into one of the ruined busts in the room, having tripped over something.

“Shit.”

“Hey, what's this?”

Mazhe crouched down to examine the offending item.

“Damn. Not seen one of those here.”

“What is it?”

“A crossbow. Just as lethal as a bow, but much easier to fire. Looks like there's a box of bolts here too,” said Mazhe, collecting the item.

“Here.” He pulled a bolt out of the box, and notched it in the slot on the top of the weapon. He pulled back on a lever, then released it, and that was it. The weapon was ready to go.

“How does it fire?”

“Uh, let's see...” Mazhe pointed the crossbow at the skull on the ground, and pressed a trigger on the bottom.

CLINK. The projectile easily penetrated the brittle skull, fracturing it into a dozen pieces.

“Wicked,” Harry grinned. “Tommy, you okay with that?”

“Yeah. Think I can manage.”

“We'll have to get it configured so it'll use conjured ammunition,” said Justin, “Brandon knows that sort of thing.”

“Not exactly time. Here, let me see one of those bolts.”

Tommy passed over one of the bolts from the box, and Harry looked at it carefully, then handed it back. He knelt by the skeletal remains, and began transfiguring the bones into bundles of bolts, which he then shoved into his rucksack.

“Right. Let's get going.”

Outside of the ruined chamber, they crept across the grounds, and up a number of flights of stairs. Being taught as he was, Harry made quick work of several skeletons guarding the area. His Daedric daggers dealt a lot of damage, and the skeletons tended to be low on the totem pole when it came to the strength of an enemy. He almost giggled aloud, watching the remains tumble down the stairs.

They stopped short, however, arriving at the massive main doors of the ruins. Six ghostly figures—one of which Harry recognized as a very young version of the very recently-deceased Arch-Mage—now stood before it in a semi-circle.

“Come on, we're finally here! Let's not waste any more time!” Savos exclaimed, acting every bit an excited school boy. Harry felt his knees go weak, in that instant reminded that the great man had once been a student also. He had walked the same halls, took in the same lessons, made the same mistakes.

“Are we truly sure this is a good idea?” another ghost, an Argonian, questioned uncomfortably.

“We'll be back at the College before anyone even knows we're gone,” answered another, sounding equally excited.

“You would care about that, since you're the Arch-Mage's favourite!” spoke another, the line said in jest.

“Don't forget, this whole idea was Atmah's to begin with,” said Savos, with a look to the student named Atmah.

“Let's just get inside, see what's in there,” spoke another, a Nord. The ghostly figures remained rooted to the spot for a moment, then faded from existence.

“Uh... well...” said Harry, clearing his throat several times. He again had to wipe his eyes.

“You... need a minute?” Mazhe asked, worried.

“No... no, I'm fine. Let's just keep moving.”

Harry reached into his satchel, and pulled out the stone ring Mirabelle had given him.

“This thing fits this door, I bet anything.”

Now recomposed, Harry looked at the great set of doors, and immediately spotted a slot that would receive the stone ring he now held in his hand. Pressing it into the slot, it seemed to instantly re-attach itself, and three loud knocks sounded out. The doors parted a little, as though reluctantly inviting them in, and with the four of them pushing on the two halves, they gained entry into the previously sealed ruins.

Inside, they were treated to a second vision of the ghostly students, still giddy with excitement about exploring the vast ruin, the anticipation of discovering vast loot and rare artefacts flooding their heads. It was still startling, but nowhere near what it had been outside.

They quickly vanished, and the four of them began making their way along a dimly lit corridor. It was one thing that always intrigued Harry: how was it that, even after centuries being unoccupied and otherwise forgotten, the ruins always seemed to be lit well enough to navigate? Magic, likely. It was the only sane explanation he could come up with.

The way ahead was blocked with a metal portcullis, but it was nothing they hadn't encountered before, and Mazhe quickly found the lever to raise it. That left Harry to lead the way into what was perhaps the largest chamber any of them had encountered thus far in a Nordic ruin. Unfortunately, it led to the first of several nasty surprises, as the portcullis gate slammed back down into place, separating Harry from the rest of the group.

“Gods...” Mazhe muttered, “See if there's a lever there somewhere.”

“Looking for it—got it,” Harry said, pulling the lever he'd located just to the right of the gate. It once again clattered up out of the way.

“Now that all the occupants know that we're here,” Mazhe muttered, as he joined Harry on the other side of the gate. It once again slammed down into place.

“Fuck this shit,” Justin snarled, drawing his wand, “ _REDUCTO_!”

The red blast of magic impacted with the metal gate, blasting it inward, half-way across the enormous room.

Tommy let out a snort. “Here comes the welcome wagon.”

He raised his new weapon, and dispatched the first skeleton, who was already lining up a shot at Harry. The monster disintegrated into a dozen pieces, clattering to the ground. No time to admire his work, he'd already reloaded, and picked off a rather ferocious Draugr who was getting too close.

“Nice shooting— _REDUCTO_!” Harry shouted, blasting another skeleton into oblivion. He was then forced to duck, as an arrow missed his head by inches. “ _REDUCTO_!” It was also rendered a pile of debris by his spell work.

Mazhe, meanwhile, was equally busy, dealing with a trio of particularly tough skeletons that were backing him up toward the wall. He held out a hand while dodging their attacks, a deep purple orb of magic appearing in his hand, and let it fly.

Rather than attack the enemies, however, it did something a little more useful. A figure built of solid flame appeared, and at once began to hurl powerful fireballs at the attacking skeletons. Conjuring a Flame Attronach was an advanced spell, and it certainly drained the mage, but as he recovered, the conjuration made quick work of the skeletons, allowing him to rejoin the main fight.

Unfortunately, the main fight had only just started, as the ground at the centre of the room heaved and exploded outward. From the newly created hole, a skeletal form emerged: a dragon.

“Oh shit,” Tommy muttered.

“Ditto. C'mon, everything we got at it, guys!” Mazhe shouted.

The Flame Atronach was already sending fireballs at it, but it appeared to be doing very little damage at this point. The undead beast was unable to fly, perhaps a little consolation, but it meant little, really.

“ _Fo... KRAH DIIN!!!_ ”

A wave of ice spewed from the dragon's mouth, narrowly missing Mazhe, and instantly freezing a path to the far wall.

“Thought dragons breathed fire!” Tommy shouted, shocked, raising his crossbow to take another shot.

“Uh, ditto!” Mazhe exclaimed.

The dragon shot out another blast of cold, this one dispatching Mazhe's conjured Flame Atronach.

“What do we do then? Open to ideas here!” Harry shouted, launching another ice spike at the monster.

Mazhe conjured a different Atronach, this one looking like a bunch of boulders held together by magic. It immediately launched a surge of electricity at the dragon, causing it to let out a roar of displeasure.

“ _REDUCTO_!” Harry commanded, nailing the dragon's tail. It blasted a chunk of bone.

“Hit it again—“ Justin was forced to hastily produce a strong shield ward, as the dragon unleashed another blast of frost, which froze everything around him.

“ _REDUCTO_!” Harry shouted again, this time aiming for the dragon's face.

“ _Yol_ —” It let out a terrible roar as the spell impacted its face. That coincided with bolt from Tommy's crossbow impacting roughly the same place. Mazhe's Storm Atronach completed the assault with a blast of electricity. The dragon let out one more roar before collapsing to the ground. It did not move.

“I... Gods... this didn't just happen,” Harry muttered, daring to poke at the skeletal remains.

“A dragon. Here. In Skyrim.” Mazhe, too, was dumbfounded. “They... they're extinct. This... it just...”

“It was undead, Mazhe. Bet it's probably been here for thousands of years,” Justin guessed.

“Doesn't bring a lot of comfort,” Mazhe answered, “It goes against so many things. They aren't supposed to exist anymore.”

“Harry, d'you mind producing your chest? Let's rest a few,” Justin decided.

“Yeah... sure.” Harry was still somewhat in a daze after what they'd just encountered, but produced his chest and set it down.

“With Justin. Let's take a break, get calmed down,” Tommy suggested, “Ain't gonna do any good worked up they way we are now.”

“Agreed. Come on then.”

Immediately once inside, Tommy had the rest of them sit on the floor and join him in the calming exercise they usually did at the end of their morning training run. It only took a few minutes, but given what they had just experienced, it was more than appropriate.

After collecting his chest and stowing it, Harry took the lead, as they pushed through the doorway at the opposite end of the massive chamber. It led down a long stairway, to an intersection which really only had one direction. There, they were treated to another vision, in which it became clear they too, had faced the terrible monster Harry and his circle had just slain. It also became clear, the toll had been more costly for Savos and his fellow students, as the number of ghosts had decreased by one member.

A short way into the next chamber, they were all jarred by a shock wave which rattled through their very being.

“ _Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?_ (1)” a raspy voice called out, echoing throughout the chamber.

“Harry? Mazhe? Justin?” Tommy looked concerned, as the three mages looked suddenly drained.

“Just... Gods... it... whatever that was, it just... sapped my magical pool. Harry? All right?”

“Same thing.”

“For good?” Tommy looked alarmed.

“No, no, it's... we just need a moment,” Mazhe answered, “Harry, any clue what it said?”

“I... I'm not sure,” Harry answered, “Come... death... servant, All I can make of it.”

“Here.” Mazhe pulled a trio of bottles out of his satchel filled with a pale-blue fluid.

“Good thinking.”

Harry accepted the bottle, and consumed its contents, while the others did the same. They all instantly felt better, as the potion worked its magic.

Unfortunately there was little respite, as several sarcophagi burst open, revealing angry Draugr. The four of them were tested again, but managed to dispatch the six undead. One particular bone-walker met its end by Tommy's bare hands; he simply slammed it into the coffin it had emerged from, shattering every bone in it.

With the crisis over for the time being, a new issue presented itself: a dead end. At least, in the form of a door with no way to open it. It was Mazhe who came up with the solution.

“Guys. The bottom of the door's got a blue glow about it. Let me try something.”

He flung a flame spell at the blockage, and it was 'Open Sesame', as the door cracked down the middle and split open.

“Brilliant as always, Mazhe,” Harry grinned, and the four of them pressed on.

It was a short corridor which led them into another, larger chamber, and a precarious descent along a narrow pathway. Worse, they were blasted with another shock wave identical to the one only minutes earlier. Harry, Justin, and Mazhe felt the same effects, and the disembodied voice spoke again:

“ _Nivahriin muz fent siiv nid aaz het._ ”

“Here.” Mazhe passed over another potion, and Harry accepted it.

“Something about cowardly men and no mercy,” said Harry, after consuming another potion.

“Hope he switches to common language soon, I don't have many of these,” said Mazhe.

“Or stops talking,” Tommy scowled.

“Yeah, that too. C'mon, let's keep moving.”

They began the slow descent, now employing stealth to keep encounters with the undead to a minimum. It was more than effective, with them only encountering a Draugr and two skeletons. The chamber itself though, was more of a hazard. Harry almost fell in two different places, with Justin and Tommy both catching him at the last second.

The strange voice was far from done, however, and another shock wave almost sent them all plummeting off the narrow bridge they were on.

“ _You do not answer... Must I use this guttural language of yours?_ ”

Mazhe considered shouting back at it, but did not, realizing it would likely only stir up any enemies that lay ahead. He simply handed out another magicka potion, and they pressed on yet again.

“Well, at least it's speaking English—watch out!” Tommy shouted, and fired his crossobw at the glowing apparition which was charging at them. A spectral dog? Now that was a new one, but it really didn't matter. The bolt impacted with its shoulders, causing it to crumple to the ground.

“Now that's a new one,” said Mazhe, shaking his head.

There was no time to think about it, as a half-dozen more of the ghostly entities were storming up the stairs from below. The group worked quickly and efficiently to eliminate the threats—Mazhe's Storm Atronach made an appearance and made quick work of two of them before being dispatched. They pushed on, leaving piles of ash behind—the entities seemed to disintegrate once destroyed.

Through more earthen-looking tunnels, they at last arrived at a long chamber with a door at the end. Another shock wave rattled the group, and the voice was back:

“ _Have you returned, Aren? My old friend?_ ”

Harry and Mazhe weren't the only ones beginning to resent the voice at this point, as it slowed them down every time it spoke. This time they needed a few minutes to recover.

The next area they entered was partially flooded with water up to their ankles. It made it much more difficult to be silent, and they ended up battling more enemies than in the past chamber. Thus far, Labyrinthian had become perhaps the toughest Nordic ruin the four of them had faced.

The voice spoke to them yet again as they crossed into another, somewhat drier chamber with an earthen slope leading down.

“ _Do you seek to finish that which you could not?_ ”

“So help me, when I find you...” Harry muttered, as he prepared to consume another potion. “How many more of those do you have?”

“Eight... no, nine,” Mazhe answered. “It keeps this up though... Gods...”

“Agreed... never encountered anything that could drain our magical core. I think that'll even have Dumbledore stumped.”

The sloping chamber led them into a larger, but initially empty chamber. Crossing that, they found barred archways which afforded them a view of the next chamber—an enormous earthen chamber with plenty of shadowy spaces in which danger could lurk. And, no surprise, as they entered the small corridor leading to said larger chamber, the voice spoke again:

“ _You only face failure once more..._ ”

The large chamber produced two trolls, a half-dozen skeletons, and a very tricky thing called a Wisp-mother. They were notoriously difficult to deal with, since they tended to Apparate short distances, particularly when significantly wounded. Between the four of them, they dispatched all of them, and they all required healing potions when they cleared the room.

“Harry? All right there?” Mazhe was concerned for his friend.

“Gods... this place... I think we're all in agreement, probably the toughest ruin we've been in.”

“Very true. Perhaps if we take an hour or two, get a bit of rest. It has been a long day. Surely a few hours won't make that much of a difference.”

“No. There isn't time. Hours can mean the difference, Mazhe. Here.” Harry reached into his rucksack, and drew out four Pepper-up potions. “We'll get loads of rest when this is over and done with.”

Harry took a few steps forward. “Gods... another one of these.”

“It's red this time, Harry.” Mazhe pointed to the bottom of the sealed door, which was giving off a red glow.

“If fire opened the last one...”

KAWHACK! The icy projectile slammed into the door, and it cracked down the middle, to slide open. The voice spoke again:

“ _You... You are not Aren, are you? Has he sent you in his place?_ ”

That wasted another few minutes, while Mazhe and Harry recovered their magic pool. They once again pressed ahead, into a chamber with a blocked spiral staircase. They once again found ghostly shades of Savos and his party, down to only four. They were being picked off, one by one.

Harry again gripped the amulet he wore.

“Talos protect us with a ready sword.”

“Plant the seeds of doubt and defeat in the hearts our enemies,” Mazhe joined in, “Bring strength and courage to our allies... and may there be a place held for us in Kynareth's realm should we part this day.”

“ _Did he warn you that your own power would be your undoing? That it would only serve to strengthen me?_ ” the voice spoke, sending another shock wave at them.

“I don't know what you are,” Mazhe finally shouted, “But we will find you, and we shall see if your actions back up your words!”

“ _Then come. Face your end_ ,” the voice mocked, this time without the shock wave.

The four of them pushed forward now with renewed ferocity, dispatching enemies as quick as they came. Progress remained slow, however, given the enormity of the ruin. It had been an enormous Nordic dwelling at one point, and by Harry's estimates, they had already been inside for several hours. Fatigue was beginning to become a factor, even with the pepper-up potions consumed earlier.

At last, they came to an area common to many Nordic ruins: the Hall of Stories. There, they encountered the ghostly Savos and his remaining two colleagues.

“ _We shouldn't have left her there to die!_ ” spoke the ghost of Atmah, somewhere between scared and angry.

“ _What else could we do? Stay there and die with her? She refused to go on, we didn't have a choice!_ ” Savos answered. He was equally upset, and frightened.

“ _This is it, you know. Through this door. Can you feel it?_ ” Hafnar spoke. He sounded dead inside, his voice devoid of emotion at this point.

“ _We're not going to make it, are we?_ ” spoke Atmah.

“ _We stay together, no matter what. Agreed?_ ”

“ _I'll be right with you._ ”

“ _Agreed. We all stay together_ ,” said Savos. They stood still a moment, then vanished.

“We've been lucky... thus far,” said Harry, quietly. “What the hell happened to them?”

“Guess we're about to find out. Keep your wits about you, guys. Whatever's in here, it plays for keeps,” said Mazhe, gravely. He pushed on the heavy doors, and the group passed through.

It was an enormous cave, nearly as large as the first chamber they had entered in the ruin. Raised stonework dominated the room, much like they had seen outside of numerous other Nordic ruins. Two bridges extended out on the left side, to form pedestals, and on each of them was a mage, held in place by powerful magic. They were casting two beams toward a buzzing sphere on the opposite side of the room, on another raised stonework.

“Gods. Savos must have done this,” said Mazhe, uncomfortable.

“He had to have good reason,” said Justin, “This thing... whatever it is. If it could take your power away...”

“C'mon, let's have a look at the sphere they're maintaining,” Harry decided.

They climbed up the stone stairs and across the bridge which linked the two sides. Up another flight of stairs, they stood in front of the sphere. And inside of it, they found a monster. Somewhere in between a skeleton and a Draugr, it wore a tattered robe, and a mask similar to the one Harry had claimed outside the ruin. In its right hand, it held a staff: the Staff of Magnus.

“Great. We have to defeat it,” Harry muttered.

“Why would we guess otherwise?” said Tommy, sarcastically. “Three of us get a bead on it. Harry... take out the things protecting it. When this barrier comes down, nail it.”

“Same as the dragon. Concentrated fire seemed to work then,” Mazhe agreed. “Harry, whenever you're ready.”

It sounded like the best plan of action. It was being kept inside the barrier for a reason. He waited until the others were in position, and then let fly an ice spike at the nearest thrall.

KAWHACK! The enthralled wizard collapsed, as did the beam connecting him to the barrier, causing said barrier to falter. Harry wheeled and let loose a second ice spike, but the monster had already moved—only Tommy's projectile had made contact, it had moved so quickly.

“ _Nunon hir do hi?(2)_ ” the monster mocked, “With less experience? Aren grows soft!”

KAWHACK! Harry's ice spike narrowly missed this time, and the monster laughed again. It brought the staff to bear, and Harry just barely got out of the way of the blast. Mazhe took the opportunity to nail it with a blast of fire, and it let out a terrible shriek, as it burst into flames.

That didn't seem to slow it, however, as it fired the staff at Mazhe this time. The older mage moved, but not quite in time, as the blast of magic caught him on the foot. He nearly collapsed from the effects.

“Mazhe?!” Harry was alarmed.

“N-no! Don't worry about me!” He shouted back.

KAWHACK! Fuelled by anger, the ice spike made contact with the burning foe, causing it to let out another terrible shriek. To occupied with Harry, it did not notice Tommy and Justin had crept around it. Justin seized the staff, while Tommy went for the monster's throat. It was only bone, right?

Justin had better success than Tommy, managing to rip the staff away from it, snapping a few bony fingers in the process. The monster let out another ungodly shriek, now trying to fight against Tommy. They were a match, this was for certain. The monster somehow twisted around, and the two faced each other, locked in a deadly struggle.

“The staff... use the staff on it!” Tommy shouted, fighting and losing ground against the being.

“Point and shoot, it's... it's just like the crossbow,” said Mazhe, from his prone position.

“Yeah, I know!” Justin shouted, trying to level the powerful artefact at the monster.

Harry was in no better position, with the way the two combatants were twisting around, unable to get in a safe shot. And Tommy knew, if he gave an inch, it would likely be all over.

_KAWHACK_! Harry had found an opening, and the creature let out another angry shriek, giving Tommy the opportunity he needed. A hand freed, he gripped the monster's throat, and squeezed with everything he had.

“The staff! Now!”

Justin took the opening given, aimed the staff at the exposed monster, and a bolt of magic bloomed from the end, to narrowly miss. He let fly another blast, and this time the aim was true. The monster let out a horrible shriek, and faltered, as though it were being drained.

“Again!” Tommy shouted, still pressing with all his strength. He was sweating profusely at this point, both hands squeezing the creature's neck. Another blast of magic nailed the monster. Justin had become more than accustomed to the behaviour of the staff he held, and the powerful entity they were fighting now paid for it.

Harry, meanwhile, moved behind the fighting pair, drawing one of his daggers.

“Time to end this,” he spoke, and drove the powerful weapon into the monster's back.

The fight was over. The undead creature collapsed, and so did Tommy, spent from the encounter.

“What... are... you?” the monster rasped. It was still alive, but the life force was rapidly draining from it. Tommy and Justin stood over it, brandishing staff and crossbow. Mazhe, still prone on the ground, still managed to produce an orange glow in his hand, and Harry stood, an ice spike ready.

“The same I might ask of you,” Harry demanded, “What... what are you?”

“ _Morokei_ ,” it answered, “You were... worthy opponents.” It was gone.

“Glorious,” Harry translated, “ _Drem_... may he find peace in the afterlife.”

“May it find peace? It tried to kill us, Harry!” Mazhe exclaimed, still from his prone position.

“Everything in here tried to kill us Mazhe,” said Tommy, finally catching his breath, “We got the staff, let's just get out of here.”

“Not yet,” said Harry, collecting the mask off of Morokei. He then set the remains on fire. “Just to prevent him from ever coming back.”

He crawled over to his friend.

“You okay?”

“I will be. Healing potion...” he was rummaging through his satchel, but Harry beat him to the punch. “Here.”

“Thanks. The staff drains your magic and your health. I was lucky... only got me a little, but... weakened me severely. Likely would have killed Tommy.”

“You okay now?” Harry asked his friend.

“Yeah, I think so. We all good to keep moving then?”

“Sounds good to me,” Tommy agreed.

“Same. Let's get back to the College.”

Harry snatched up a stone from the floor, and created a Portkey.

“Grab on, we go in ten.”

* * *

Instead of landing in the courtyard of the College, as expected, they landed across the bridge, where Tolfdir and many students were gathered.

“Harry. Thank the Nine. Did you...” Tolfdir did not finish, seeing the staff secured to Justin's back.

“What happened?” Mazhe questioned.

“Whatever Ancano's doing to the eye has made things more and more unstable. See for yourself,” Tolfdir said, casting a hand toward the College. It was surrounded in a maelstrom of whirling energy.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered.

“What do we do now, then?” Mazhe asked.

“You four have the staff,” answered Tolfdir, “It's likely the only thing that will penetrate whatever Ancano is doing. Just aim it at the storm, see if it will break through.”

“Right. Everyone else get behind us, we'll need lots of able spell casters at our back when we get in there,” Mazhe decided.

With the bulk of the College membership behind them, Harry, Mazhe, Justin, and Tommy moved up the stone ramp and onto the bridge. Even from this distance, they could feel the immense amount of magical energy being produced by the Eye of Magnus. To Tommy, it in some ways resembled a hurricane.

Reaching the mid point of the bridge, Justin began to use the staff and blast away at the storm of energy circling the College grounds. There had been doubts about the effectiveness, but that was all put to rest, as the magic from the staff easily cut through the storm and put an end to it. The group took off at a dead run the rest of the way, and charged through the busted doors leading into the Hall of the Elements.

Ancano was still casting magic at the powerful orb, but he most certainly noticed as they entered.

“You dare approach me here? Are you mad? You cannot hope to defeat me!”

“You're the one who's mad, Ancano,” Harry answered evenly, “I somehow knew we would end up on opposite sides of the battlefield one day.”

“Oh, you knew, did you?” Ancano sneered, “A silly little school boy, you have _no hope_ of matching the power I have at my command!”

KAWHACK! The ice spike disintegrated without leaving a mark.

“See?!” Ancano taunted, “You cannot leave a mark on me! I, meanwhile, have free reign!”

An arc of magic leapt from the orb, narrowly missing Mazhe, leaving a scorch mark on the ground. More than a few of the College membership took exception to that, and unleashed a swarm of magical attacks, but it was all in vain, the energy simply being absorbed by the orb at the centre of the room. Even attacks of non-magical means had no effect, as the orb acted as some sort of barrier against solid projectiles.

“The staff,” Tolfdir suggested, “Use the staff on the orb. It's behaving exactly as it had when we first encountered it in Saarthal.”

“Right. Against Jyrik Gauldurson,” Harry remembered, “Give it a go, Justin.”

Justin needed no further prompting, but turned the Staff of Magnus on the Eye. The orb pulsed angrily, and the outer layer of it seemed to shift and expand, allowing a nearly blinding light to escape from the gaps.

“NOW! He should be vulnerable!” Harry shouted, and before Ancano could do anything, the now vulnerable Altmer was struck by dozens of blasts of magic. He was rendered a pile of ash. After all, the college's entire population had taken great exception to the damage the Thalmor mage had caused.

The Eye, however, was still pulsing and spinning, as angry as ever, the storm of magic still swirling around it.

“Now what do we do?” Mazhe asked, beat. It had been a long night, and the dawn was just starting to show through the windows.

“I... I don't know. Ancano is gone, but whatever he's done to the Eye doesn't seem to have stopped,” answered Tolfdir, equally alarmed, “I have no idea what to do!”

It was then a shadowy figure began to form in their midst—one they had seen already on several occasions. The gold and crimson robes announced the arrival of a Psijic Monk.

“We knew the pair of you would succeed,” he said, “Your victory here justifies our belief in you. You have proven yourself more than worthy to one day guide the College of Winterhold.”

“One day, maybe, sir,” said Mazhe, “But... this... the Eye... what do we do now?”

“The Eye has grown unstable. It cannot remain here, or else it may destroy your College and this world,” the monk answered gravely, “It must be secured. Ancano's actions prove that the world is not ready for such a thing.”

Harry noticed that the monk was joined by three others, and they now stood in a diamond formation around the Eye.

“We shall safeguard it... for now,” the monk continued, “I wish you both good luck, Mazhe, and Mr. Potter, you have done great things here today.”

He turned to face Tolfdir. “Until these two are ready, it falls to you to lead the College.”

“And not Mirabelle? I thought she was his, uh, deputy,” said Harry.

“Mirabelle did not make it, Harry,” answered Arniel, “She tried to keep things secured while everyone else evacuated back across the bridge.”

“We lost some very talented people today,” said Mazhe, head bowed.

“Thus is the way fate unfolds sometimes, all of you do realize that,” said the monk, “Now it is time for us to go. I bid you all good bye, but know that we will meet again.”

He turned back to face the Eye, and raised his hands to it, like the others. They faded out of view, the Eye vanishing only a fraction of a second later.

“Then it is done. It is over,” said Mazhe, beat.

“The four of you, go get some rest. We can talk about matters after,” said Tolfdir.

“C'mon, guys, he's right,” said Harry, “Gonna go fall in my bed, and hopefully not be disturbed for the next six hours or so.”

Tolfdir had to smile, seeing his two brightest mages walking out of the hall, Mazhe with his arm around his younger friend, with Justin and Tommy pulling up the rear. It was an odd group, but they had each others' backs. He knew he was in for quite the tale once they had some rest. For now, there was a mess to clean up, and order to restore... a communication needed to be sent down to the Jarl of Winterhold, and perhaps the Jarls of Dawnstar and Windhelm while he was at it, just to cross all the 'T's, and dot all the 'I's.

* * *

When the four of them entered Harry's rooms in the Hall of Attainment, however, it was clear they wouldn't be getting rest for some time yet. The room was turned over, with everything scattered on the floor. Clearly, the magical storm created by the eye had disrupted things all over the College. The fire was also out in the fireplace, and with no fire, the floo connection was out.

Of course, that wasn't the only way for people back in the Commonwealth to reach Harry and his circle, and sure enough, within minutes, Harry's phone rang.

“Hello?”

“ _Harry?! God, we've been trying to reach you for hours!_ ” came Alice's concerned voice.

“We had a small problem here. Just give us a minute to get the floo open and come through. It's been a, well, exciting past couple of days.”

Minutes later, a small crowd of people seemed to flood the suite through the floo. In some ways Harry was touched by the number of people concerned about his well-being. Even Sirius and Remus come through, both of them being greatly concerned for their best friends' son.

Just about everyone was gravely concerned, finding the place in such disarray.

“Looks like a tornado blew through,” said Brandon.

“A dangerous and powerful magical object was brought into the College,” Harry answered, as he continued to set the room back to rights, “Something that shouldn't have been here in the first place. A visitor to the College started messing with it, and... this is the result.”

“And this visitor?” Will asked.

“Dead,” Mazhe answered, “He put the entire world at risk with what he did.”

“I see,” said Alice, frowning. “I keep forgetting how truly dangerous this world can be.”

“No different than our own, Alice,” said Harry, with a frown of his own, “At least here—for the most part anyway—I know what to expect.”

“Harry... you don't have to be concerned about us wanting to stop you from being here,” said Guardian Elaine, with a soft smile, “You couldn't have said it better. But you cannot fault us for not being concerned, you being out of contact for as long as you were.”

“No, guess not. And after you see the memories I'm about to share with you, I wouldn't be surprised if... well... that's exactly what you wanted to do. Gods... still can't believe...”

“Here,” said Mazhe, putting Harry's pensieve on the table.

“Thanks.”

Harry began to draw out a series of memories.

“Merlin... Looks like we're in for quite the tale,” Remus assumed.

“Been a challenging few hours, yeah,” said Tommy, settling into a chair. “We probably won't be much help for the next few hours--'least not Harry. All of us have been up too long.”

“Guys... get some rest. I'll set this up then I'll be doing the same,” Harry said, dropping yet another memory into the clay bowl. Even if he was only sharing the highlights, the material easily covered several hours.

“We'll wake you when we're done,” Sirius offered.

“Great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Officials from the American Department of Magic visit the Commonwealth's ministry of Justice, resulting in Britain's minster of Magic receiving an unwelcome dressing down by his American counterpart;a funeral is held for Savos Aren; and Harry and his circle return to Hogwarts after a distressing letter from Hermione, resulting in complications..._
> 
> _AUTHOR NOTES: So there are a few things that Harry and his circle did not encounter while in Labyrinthian (The word wall, and the encounter with Estormo to name two instances), but I take a bit of artistic license here. Equally, I barely touched on their travel through the last bit of the ruin, leading up to the fight with Morokei, given it was just more fights with Draugr & so on. I cut a few corners here, but if only to cut down on the repetition._   
> _Was the fight against Ancano a little too easy? Come on. Against the entire college membership (or most of it)? No chance, once Mazhe disrupted the orb and stripped away the protection. The College hated the guy, so they wouldn't be in the mood to be kind. Curse first and ask questions later, and all that._   
> _(1) There is debate on the Skyrim Wiki about what Morokei is actually saying here, so I won't post any translation. Also, given Harry's most certainly not fluent in the dragon tongue, he's only able to guess a couple of the words (though his guesses are close)._   
> _(2) nunon hir do hi - “Only four of you”_


	18. Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Officials from the American Department of Magic visit the Commonwealth's ministry of Justice, resulting in Britain's minster of Magic receiving an unwelcome dressing down by his American counterpart;a funeral is held for Savos Aren; and Harry and his circle return to Hogwarts after a distressing letter from Hermione, resulting in complications..._

**18: GROUNDED**

**September 13 – September 24, 2005**

* * *

It was late afternoon before Harry at last stirred. Indeed, the past few days had been more than remarkable, and not in a good way. To date, the events were categorized as perhaps some of the worst he had experienced in his young life, and that was saying something, all considering.

Pulling back the curtains to his compartment, he found all of his visitors still present, gathered around the table. Justin was also awake and among them, but the others were still asleep.

“How you feeling?” Justin asked, as Harry pulled up a seat.

“Well enough, I guess. Everyone else is still asleep I take it.”

“I had healer Ferris look in on Mazhe, he looked like death warmed over. Given the power of the... artefact you lot have. He is lucky he still has his magic,” said Guardian Elaine, pursing her lips.

“Pup, after this, Voldemort will be a cake walk, I think,” said Sirius, shaking his head, “Merlin's beard...”

“Last thing I'm thinking about right now, Sirius,” answered Harry, with a frown. He then smirked.

“'Course, I would love to see him face Morokei, or whatever it called itself. Always something larger in the food chain, or something like that, right?”

“You still have the mask you collected?” Remus asked.

“Yeah.”

Harry reached into his rucksack, and retrieved the mask. It was made of some sort of metal most seated around the table had not seen before, giving off a muted blue sheen. He slipped it on, and as expected, the hood instantly appeared.

“Fascinating. You look rather intimidating,” said Justin, shaking his head.

“And I'm keeping it. It was a hell of a fight to claim it.”

“No one said you couldn't,” said Will, “It does astonish me as to just how much trouble you get yourself into though.”

“I don't do it intentionally!” Harry exclaimed, removing the mask and putting it back in his rucksack. “Gods. We lost some great people the last couple of days.”

“As we saw,” said Elaine, “Savos Aren was a great man, and will be missed. Even amongst ourselves.”

“He was a mentor to me... to Mazhe too. He was what Dumbledore _should_ be—and really I shouldn't even _dare_ compare the two. Savos had integrity, he was honest with me when I asked questions... didn't keep me in the dark about things, y'know, the qualities a leader is supposed to have.”

“But you also saw he most certainly had his own secrets,” Justin pointed out, “Remember those... shades?”

“He had a good reason though. As dark as it was... I guess... he had no choice. Knowing what sort of man he was... what he did to his colleagues and friends probably haunted him to his grave, and likely beyond. I would almost bet a bag of Galleons his ghost walks in Labyrinthian now.”

“The undead you encountered in... Saarthal, was it?”

“Jyrik Gauldurson. There was some sort of writ of sealing... hold on a moment.”

Harry again dug into his rucksack, and pulled out the parchment Mazhe had collected from the powerful Draugr.

“ _Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer and betrayer. Condemned by your crimes against realm and lord. May your name and deeds be forgotten forever. And the charm which you bear be sealed by our ward_ ,” he read.

“Condemned in memory. Whatever that dude did, it was really bad,” said Justin. “They wanted him stricken from memory.”

“Considering it almost killed Tommy. And it was strong. Much stronger than any Draugr we've seen before,” said Harry. “Even after we broke whatever shield it was using. Completely immune to magic, cycling between fire, frost, and shock. Never seen anything like that before.”

“Thing is, you have to remember that you know of magic from not one, but two worlds, Harry. And, you are at the point where you should be able to improvise, am I right?” Elaine questioned.

“Somewhat. In the heat of battle, I sometimes forget things.”

“As you practice you will get better at it. You have an advantage over a good number of people back in our own world,” Brandon pointed out, “Now getting tunnel vision can end up a handicap, so you need to practice using both skill sets.”

“Yeah, you're right.”

Harry blew out a breath.

“I guess if anything this was a stark learning experience. We... did okay. Made it out alive, stopped Ancano from blowing everything to Oblivion... but Brandon is right. Still got lots to learn.”

“The most important thing is, you made it out safely and in one piece. In any event like this, it's the best we can hope for,” said Remus, “You take what you experienced as exactly that: experience. Learn from it, grow from it.”

“I know, Moony, I know.”

* * *

Tommy's birthday was on September 15, and that resulted in a small party on board the Ragnar—it was thought that holding any sort of party at the College might be considered callous, given the loss of a few days prior. Only the other members of the circle were present, as were the pair of S.O.U. members, although their participation was even further limited.

Even with the different location, the event was somewhat subdued, and clearly, had the man of the hour had his way, there would have been none at all. However, even he realized that perhaps it was best to have something to celebrate, if only to lift the dark cloud that had descended upon everyone.

Birthdays, however, do also mean gifts, and although he didn't receive too many, they were all either special or useful in some way. Mazhe presented him with a jewelled amulet which he had enchanted himself.

“This should help next time you get blown across the room by a dragon shout,” he smirked, handing over the small package. “The enchantments help you to rapidly regain your health, stamina, and magic—well, maybe not magic in your case, but...”

“Uh, thanks,” Tommy said, pulling the amulet out of the small box. “Bit expensive.”

“It's nothing.”

“C'mon guys, you know what he gets into,” Justin smirked.

“Actually I made that one,” Mazhe answered, honestly, “For an occasion like this, it was made honestly. I got Balimund to help out with the chain, but I forged the amulet itself.”

Tommy simply smirked, and secured the amulet around his neck. He felt it instantly get warm, as it came in contact with his chest.

“Guess it's our turn, then,” said Brandon, as he and Eric finally joined the conversation, “Given the training you've already received, her majesty has passed on this little token of her appreciation, for you helping Harry out.”

Brandon pulled a small package out of his utility vest and set it on the table. He then drew his wand and tapped the package, at once restoring it to its original size. It also changed its shape into that of a large duffel bag, something like Tommy had seen plenty of times before. There was a letter resting on top of it, and that was the first item he opened.

 

_Dear Mr. Riordan,_

_May this day bring many happy returns, a moment of clarity in the storm that surrounds you and the circle which you have become a part of. It is to that sentiment that We turn, in recognition of your great service to Our ward and by extension, Our realm._

_It is therefore with Our greatest gratitude, that We name you an honorary member of Our Special Operations Unit, granting you all the privileges and status it entails. We are assigning Lieut. Commander McAllister to see to your additional training, in the hopes that one day that title will be more than honorary. That, We do leave up to you._

_Happy birthday, and many happy returns,_

(An elegant signature was penned here)

_H. R. M. Queen Susan II_

 

“It's Conlon from now on,” said Tommy, looking up from the letter.

“Finally made peace with things,” Harry guessed.

“Yeah. Something like that. This... this is real nice.”

“We ran the idea by Mrs. T., and things went from there,” said Eric, “The gear in the bag is our standard kit. We'll help you go over the contents later on.”

“Well. Uh, thanks. But... Don't you have to be... uh, magical?” Tommy looked confused.

“No. Definitely not. Now most of us are, but we have a few guys who aren't. Trust me, the toys we have to play with more than make up for lack of magical ability,” Brandon explained.

“Guess I'm up, then,” said Harry, producing a folded parchment. “I know you're not so much into material things, but I know this will help in a different way. The Commonwealth's attorneys weren't interested in helping me out on this, but Sirius was more than happy to. He hired attorneys who were able to recover the prize money from the SPARTA tournament which you should have received given... well...” He slid the parchment across the table.

“Yeah, I know. Thank you, Harry.”

Tommy was clearly more appreciative of this than he was of the other gifts, and Harry knew it wasn't for the fact it made him nearly five million dollars richer. He knew Tommy would most likely send all but a small portion of it to Mrs. Fernandez, keeping a promise he made to her well over a year prior.

“Guess I never really said this,” said Tommy, at last making eye contact with Harry. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Helping me get my head again.”

“Oh. Well, you're welcome,” Harry grinned, at last understanding.

The man sitting across the table from him had changed somewhat in the ten and a half months he'd been a member of the circle. He still visited with healer Ferris once a week, and that would likely continue for some time yet. However, Tommy was in a much better place mentally, and it showed. He had gained something in Harry and his circle; something he had lost at the end of October the year last—family.

* * *

_September 16, 2005_

_Office of the Minister, Ministry of Justice_

_Trevelyan_

 

The minister for Justice was most displeased to find two officials from the American Department of Magic waiting for him, as he stepped into his office first thing that morning. They had arrived with three crimson-robed Aurors in tow, and the lot had harassed his secretary for nearly three quarters of an hour, the time it took for him to get to the office. He schooled his features.

“Good morning. If you will join me in the conference room.”

He indicated a door to the right of the reception desk, and a quick nod to his secretary had her picking up a telephone receiver. The small delegation filed into the indicated room, with the minister following behind.

“Now then. I do understand there was some urgency in this meeting, but to summon me an hour early to the office?”

“I am Chuck Ellis, this is Ethel Green. We're from the American DMLE, sent here with business concerning Thomas Conlon.”

“I see. Have a seat,” said the minister, indicating seats at the large conference table.

Mr. Ellis and Ms. Green took up the offer and made themselves comfortable, while the trio of Aurors simply took up positions about the room. Nathan scowled in his head, meanwhile. He knew this sort of thing would come about eventually, what with the rumblings in the ICW. He still had to look the part, however. He stuck his head out the door.

“Natalie, d'you mind summoning the file on Mr. Conlon?”

“Right away, sir.”

“It shouldn't take too long,” he said, speaking to his guests.

“Don't you employ house elves to do stuff like that?” Ms. Green asked, curious.

“No. But we have something that's almost as fast. Sometimes faster.”

Sure enough, less than a minute later, the secretary entered, bringing what looked like a tablet of some sort.

“That's a file?” Mr. Ellis looked intrigued.

“Computer tablet, actually. We don't keep paper records much anymore.”

“But doesn't the magic interfere with it?”

“No, because this actually _runs_ on magic,” Nathan answered, hiding a smirk that threatened to take over his face. Dr. Fraser was doing some truly amazing things back in his department, and now the entire government was beginning to benefit.

“If we could get to the purpose of this meeting then,” said Ms. Green.

“Indeed.”

Nathan skimmed the electronic file, although he was already well-aware of the details. Someone awarded political asylum by prerogative powers, he made _damn_ sure he knew of the details—for exactly the situation which now presented itself.

“Mr. Blake, it is the American magical government who is responding, since Mr. Conlon is an American citizen. The International magical body has impressed on us that it is our responsibility to deal with this matter, and so this is why we are now in your office,” said Mr. Ellis.

“The International Confederation is concerned about several issues, the largest being a loose cannon being allowed to associate with an individual critical to the survival of the magical world. Secondly, Mr. Conlon is now wanted by both the non-magical American military, as well as the English magical government.” Ms. Green picked up.

“For that reason, we, on behalf of the International Confederation of Wizards, are here to collect Mr. Conlon, and return him where he belongs, so that he may be properly dealt with, and ensure that the saviour of the wizarding world is not influenced negatively by his presence.” Mr. Ellis finished.

Nathan could not contain himself, and burst out laughing.

“I don't see what could be amusing, Mr. Blake,” said Mr. Ellis, scowling.

Nathan had to take several deep breaths in order to calm himself.

“Sweet Merlin, you have to be joking,” he finally said, “Do you not realize how ridiculous that sounds? I was beginning to have doubts in the sanity of the ICW. This just removes all doubt. Gods.”

“This is not a request, Minister Blake,” said one of the Aurors, gravely.

“You believe a single non-magical individual is a threat to the boy-who-lived? That's the gist of your argument here?”

“It is the bulk of the Confederation's concerns, yes,” said Ms. Green.

“Regretfully, you won't be leaving with him, let alone seeing him,” said Nathan, “First off, had I known exactly what it was you were demanding a meeting with me regarding, I would have flatly denied it. The Commonwealth of Valicadia has no working extradition treaty with the American Department of Magic. That alone leaves any demands you bring to our borders null and void. Second of all, even if we _did_ have such a treaty in place, Mr. Conlon has been granted political asylum by her majesty's prerogative powers, in effect since he set foot in the country on October 31 of last year. Her orders supersede anything my office could ever muster. So, if you would like to attempt to seek an audience with her majesty, you're quite welcome to do so. But as far as my office is concerned, we cannot and will not be handing Mr. Conlon over to your custody. Now if that's all, you can kindly show yourselves out.”

The American representatives sat there, mouths agape from the very blunt and direct rebuke. It was also information, information they should have had before wasting an international floo trip. “Political Asylum” meant the end of whatever witch hunt the ICW had cooked up. And, considering the terrifying firepower the Commonwealth possessed, it was more than likely they would back up the claim with force.

The Americans most certainly possessed a formidable fighting force themselves, but to go toe to toe with something such as the Ragnar? Hands down, it was the largest moving object ever built by humans, nearly double the length of the largest American aircraft carrier. Their appearance the previous November over Scotland had been their coming out party in a way.

The most important thing now, was to relay the Commonwealth's response back to the Confederation. It would then be up to the Confederation as to how to proceed next. Really, though... did the international community truly want to pick a fight with an unknown?

* * *

_Office of the Minister, Ministry of Magic_

_London_

“Secretary Jordan—Sander. Merlin's beard... do come have a seat,” Fudge invited, surprised at finding his American counterpart being ushered in by 'Wetherby'.

“Thank you, Cornelius,” answered the the tall wizard, as he was shown to a seat off to the side of the office, meant for less-formal meetings. Fudge took the seat opposite.

“Would you like tea? Or coffee, if my recollection is right?”

“Coffee would be fine, although my visit is rather brief, as I do have a sub-committee meeting in just over an hour.”

“Weatherby! Tea and coffee!”

“Right away, sir,” said Percy, and he hurriedly left the office.

The two leaders chatted on about unimportant things for a few minutes, until Percy returned bringing a service. With tea and coffee served, Fudge moved things along, knowing how his counterpart worked. There was a good reason Secretary Jordan was in his office.

“What brings you to London this afternoon?”

“Straight to the point. Good, good,” answered the wizard.

Being the American Secretary for Magic going on eleven years, he appreciated the no-nonsense approach.

“This morning, our DMLE sent representatives to Trevelyan with regard to Thomas Conlon.”

“The Muggle Harry Potter is in the company of these days.”

“Yes. The individual your government seems to have it in for these days, never mind for Mr. Potter himself,” said Jordan, idly stirring his coffee. “The International Confederation impressed on us that it was our responsibility to see that Mr. Conlon is removed from Mr. Potter's company, for, I quote, the safety and security of our future, un-qoute.”

“For exactly that reason, Sander. The boy—man is dangerous. He attacked the Hogwarts headmaster in front of nearly a thousand witnesses in February. It made the front page of the _Prophet_ , not to mention a great many international papers, completely overshadowing the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. It was—“

“An embarrassment to your ministry,” Jordan finished, giving Fudge a hard look. He took a sip of his coffee.

“Way I understand it, the kid was furious at the underhanded method by which he was used during the task. I can't fault the boy in the least given the circumstances. He's not magical, and simply lashed out with the resources he had at hand. What I hear, the headmaster had to have his jaw reset and his teeth regrown.”

“We will not be made a fool of!” Fudge blustered, “That _filthy Muggle_ made a fool of the Hogwarts headmaster!”

“And WE will not be made a fool of either, Fudge!” Jordan snapped right back. “This morning, we were made a fool of. Did you know that the subject of your little witch hunt has political asylum? Our representatives were most displeased to realize we had been sent with only half the facts.”

“But...”

“But what, Cornelius? You and your ministry are already drawing the ire of the Commonwealth of Valicadia. Do you wish to draw ours as well?”

“Well, I...”

“What's the Hogwarts motto— _never tickle a sleeping dragon_ , something like that? That's exactly what you're doing with the Commonwealth of Valicadia. We know nothing of their military strength—although if the HMS Ragnar should be anything to gauge by, they are a force to be reckoned with. A piece of advice, Cornelius. Drop the witch hunt against Potter and his friends, 'fore the Commonwealth reacts in a way that can only end very badly for Magical England.”

“But... the ICW will never stand for it!” Fudge sputtered, “We are sworn to protect each other!”

“Not against stupidity,” answered Jordan, “Seriously. To ignore what's going on, that's just stupidity. My government, the Canadian ministry, the Brazilian ministry—as well as at least a dozen other magical nations—we all agree with the Commonwealth. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, Tom Riddle is back. Burying your head in the sand and pretending won't make him go away. Nor will conducting a witch hunt against the very individual destined to deal with him for good.”

“Now see here—“

“No, YOU see here, Fudge. The American Department of Magic will not be made a fool of. Draw us into your underhanded business again, and you _will_ _not_ like the consequences.”

Fudge could only sit there, mouth agape, as his counterpart sat the half-finished mug down, stood up, and stormed out of the office. They had to be lying! All of them! Lucius had told him— _reassured him_ —the rumours were exactly that, nothing to base any sort of fact on! But more than a dozen magical governments? He was being pulled in what seemed like six different directions, and he didn't like the sensation one bit.

* * *

_Sundas, 18 Hearthfire, 4E200 / Sunday, 18 September, 2005_

_College of Winterhold_

The funeral for Savos Aren was held in the courtyard of the College. It would be the first of several to mark the passing of a few remarkable people. Everyone was in agreement that things could have been a lot worse, but that sentiment did nothing to lessen the impact of the loss. Savos Aren had been a mentor to Harry in a number of ways, particularly early on, when he'd first arrived in Skyrim. That connection had lessened as the young wizard found his feet in the foreign land, but even up to the disastrous events of a few days prior, Harry had still considered Savos to be somewhat of a grandfather.

As Tolfdir lit the funeral pyre, not an eye remained dry in the gathered group. Even the weather on this day seemed a little more glum than usual, and the warmth of the air only brought drizzle in place of the snow that usually fell. It was as if the Gods were sharing in their grief.

Harry was only more than glad to retreat back to the Ragged Flagon with Mazhe once the funeral was concluded. Though he didn't wish to admit it to himself, he was still suffering from shell shock. The whole escapade had unfolded over a number of days, but really, he couldn't even begin to try and separate one from the next. It was a blur of disastrous incidents, all brought on by a power-hungry Thalmor bastard. It was no wonder the Nords despised them so much—this was a glaring example! Harry would never forgive the lot of them.

“To Savos Aren,” said Mazhe, raising his tankard aloft, “A great man and a great wizard, you shall be missed.”

“To Savos,” Harry repeated, copying his best friend's actions. The rest of the circle mirrored his action, and all drank deeply. It was the third round at this point, and so the pain had been somewhat dulled.

“Y'know. I wish I could burn every last one of them,” he declared, and downed the remainder of the tankard.

“More than a lot of people agree with you, Harry,” said Mazhe, shaking his head. “Remember, we're only a few against their many. The Aldmeri Dominion forced the Empire to submit—“

“Yeah, I know... White-Gold Concordat. I know my history, Mazhe.”

“And if Ulfric Stormcloak has his way, they'll drive both the Empire AND the Thalmor out of Skyrim for good,” said Mazhe.

Delvin threw in his two cents, seated at his usual table. “Wars, not good for business.”

“Thalmor aren't good for the health of non-elven races either,” Mazhe muttered, “They'd like nothing more than to exterminate the lot of us... and given the chance, that's exactly what they'll do. Coin ain't worth nothing to any of us if we're dead. The day Ulfric starts any offensive against the Empire, I'll be heading to Windhelm to help out. To avenge my parents, and indirectly, avenge this... our loss a few days ago.”

“Sounds like a plan. Vekel! Another round!” Harry called.

“Harry...” Justin looked uncomfortable at the idea.

“What? This dragon shit lost me a mentor, the college a leader... They struck at one source of stability in my life, is it not right that I make them hurt?”

“Revenge leads down a dark path, even you know this.”

“Y'know what I truly wish? That Savos and Dumbledore could be switched somehow—thanks.” Vekel had placed another platter of tankards at the centre of the table, and was then collecting the empties. “Savos wouldn't put up with half the things that go on at Hogwarts.”

“No, definitely not,” Mazhe agreed, “That blatant favouritism by Professor Snape?”

“Yeah.”

“Savos would've likely cursed him several times over first time he heard of that sort of behaviour.”

Harry blew out a breath, and took another drink. “Doesn't matter now. The College won't ever be the same. And I won't ever trust the Thalmor ever again.”

“Harry. Just... don't do anything rash.” Justin looked uncomfortable with the dark direction of the conversation. “Last thing you need is to get in trouble with the law. Given you're nearly of age here and all.”

“Justin... just... I know that!” Harry exclaimed, “Gods, I'm not stupid!”

“I didn't suggest you were. But you do act rashly sometimes.”

“Right. Point conceded. Thing is though, whatever Mazhe decides to do, it's a fair likelihood I'll follow suit. 'specially on this matter. If the Jarl of Windhelm plans to go to war with the Empire, count me in. If it means striking back at the Thalmor, then all the better.”

“Really don't think it's a good idea, Harry... but... if that's what you wanna do, I'll always have your back,” Justin promised. “Just as much as Tommy or Mazhe... But you know Ulfric's a racist ass, right?”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Harry looked at Tommy. “You're being rather quiet.”

“What needed to be said was said already,” Tommy answered, with a shrug. “Whatever you wanna do, man.”

Justin shook his head. “'course you know, Will and Alice are gonna have lots to say, right?”

“They might. But really. At this point, there's not a whole lot they can do to stop me.”

“Guys, it's not happening tomorrow anyway. Ulfric's still gathering supporters. It could be a few years yet before he really dares,” said Mazhe.

“I can wait.” Harry took another drink. “Just like a certain Dark Lord we all know of. The opportunity will present itself. And it'll be over. I'll be done with that sodding prophecy. I'll leave the wizarding world for good, come here to stay. To grow old amongst friends, rather than be treated like a chess piece.”

Rather than return to the College, the group once again returned to the Ragnar. The events surrounding the College were still very much an open wound, and all were in agreement that perhaps some time away would be a good thing. Mid-morning found the young wizard seated in front of the fire, still in a partial haze, as the terrible memories still replayed themselves endlessly in his mind's eye. The College would never be the same.

Harry slept restlessly that night, plagued by new, frightening nightmares of the past few days' events. It was only to be expected, considering he'd lost a mentor, and nearly lost someone he now considered a dear friend. One of those dreams, however, stood out.

* * *

Harry found himself amongst his circle, fighting back-to-back against a surge of what he at first believed to be soldiers from the Imperial legion. At least the armour looked similar. Perhaps they had been dispatched from the Imperial City in Cyrodil. The thing was, the surroundings were unfamiliar. It was warm—stiflingly warm. Catching a glimpse of himself, he found himself wearing armour that was unfamiliar as the surroundings were. It was a steel set with intricate carving, and if he were honest with himself, it was rather comfortable, the cloth and leather being soft against the skin, unlike most of the armour he'd worn up to this point.

In the chaos swirling around him, Harry caught a glimpse of another faction involved in the fight: men wearing far less armour than the Imperials. Bandits? Forsworn? No, definitely not Forsworn. Their choice of dress was rather distinct, and the people here were not dressed in that fashion.

“ _Bombarda maxima_!” he heard himself cry, a hand thrust out in front of him. A blast of magic bloomed from it, to impact with the swath of Imperials, sending a great number of them flying, and opening up a clearing. Unfortunately, they still found themselves surrounded.

THWACK. An arrow embedded in the ground only a foot away, reminding him the enemy fought equally well at long range. Harry instantly threw up a strong shield he'd learned to cast that would keep out projectiles. It shimmered a purple shade, as more arrows slammed into it.

“Finally got it working?” Mazhe grinned, as he took another swipe at an Imperial that got too close.

“Yeah, about time,” Harry agreed, as another barrage of arrows rained down on top of them.

Someone was speaking to his left, and for the first few moments, it was a different language, at least until what he suspected was a translation charm took hold. “...most useful. If only we could cast such protection over the others.”

“Even our limited involvement here is dangerous, Taranis,” Harry heard himself answer, “Shor's balls, Hermione's likely gonna read me the riot act as it is when she finds out.”

“She'll understand--” POP, POP, POP. Three bullet holes now pierced the forehead of an Imperial who'd dared come a little close, courtesy of a pistol in Tommy's hand. “She'll understand, Harry. Not as if this shit happened on purpose.”

“Hmmph. Particularly after what they did to Tommy,” said Mazhe, as he charged up another blast of fire.

The scene swiftly changed. Tommy lay on the ground, a spear piercing his chest. Harry woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest.

* * *

“You look like shit,” said Tommy, as Harry stepped into the dining room. He was just getting up.

“Feel like shit,” he agreed, “Slept horribly, nightmares most of the night.”

“I've got an appointment or I'd help you sort it out. We'll chat when I come back.”

“Yeah. Er... thanks.” Harry's head was still swimming at what he'd woken to not so long before, as he watched Tommy leave.

“I know where your head's at right now,” said Mazhe, “The College is the last place you want to be.”

The young mage claimed a seat right beside him, momentarily gripping him about the shoulder. At this point, the pair of them were alone.

Tommy would be out for most of the morning himself, having called healer Ferris for an extra session. Justin, meanwhile, had his own projects on the go, and so had left for his Ministry's satellite office, conveniently on board the Ragnar.

“You're right. But Gods, I don't want to be here either,” Harry answered.

“You could run a few errands for Vekel.”

“Right. A few people aren't exactly happy with us spending any sort of time in the Flagon as it is.”

Mazhe gave Harry a weak smile. “Vekel's errands are typically fairly tame. And honestly, d'you really want to stay here?”

“I... guess.”

“Besides, the guys like you. Delvin and Niruin wouldn't help you otherwise.”

“I won't ever actually steal anything. That's just...”

“I know, Harry. Just trust me. There are other ways... things you can do for us. Come to think of it—”

They were interrupted as an owl dropped a letter in Harry's lap, and swooped back out from whence it came. Recognizing the handwriting on the envelope, he tore it open.

“Hermione?” Mazhe asked, also recognizing the handwriting.

“Yeah. Gods. We need to go to Hogwarts.”

“What happened?”

“Ron's being a prat, and Hermione needs my ear.”

“Better tell Brandon and Eric. They'll insist on coming.”

“Yeah, I know. C'mon.”

Harry stood up, and checked his pockets, making sure he had certain things, while Mazhe summoned Brandon and Eric, who had stationed themselves outside the suite's entrance.

From there, the four of them traveled by floo powder to the Three Broomsticks, and walked up to the school. Eric always went first, then used his mobile to let Brandon know it was safe from the other end. It was all part of the new safety protocols for traveling by floo powder. Of course, they could have just traveled directly to the school, but doing so would attract undue attention. Not that showing up at the school wouldn't.

“Really need to work on getting your friends away from this place, Harry,” said Brandon, “The letter suggests miss Granger is unhappy here.”

“Given they have another useless Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, I can't blame her,” Harry answered, as he pushed open the doors that led into the entry hall of the castle.

“Harry, hold on a sec. Something doesn't feel—” Mazhe began, but it was too late. The four of them were blinded by a tremendous blue flash of light.

* * *

When Harry came to, he once again found himself looking at the whitewashed ceiling of the school's hospital wing. His eyes darted to his right, and his head screamed in pain as he did so. Whatever happened, it had thrown him for a loop.

“Harry?” Mazhe asked.

He was sitting beside the bed, looking concerned. Both Brandon and Eric were wide awake and at his side, as were Ron, Hermione, and the twins.

“I... Gods, my head...” He found another pain-relieving potion being pressed into his hand. He consumed it at once.

“Harry... I'm sorry,” Hermione apologized.

“It's okay, Hermione. Not your fault,” Harry said, pushing himself into a sitting position, now that his head wasn't screaming out in pain. “What happened to us?”

“We have a crime scene unit investigating now, Harry,” said miss Collins.

She and her colleague were on the other side of the bed. Mr. Sampson was busily writing notes on a tablet.

“Harry, my boy. I do apologize that you have experienced yet another terrible mishap while in the castle.”

Of course, the whiskered wanker would be there. Professor McGonagall was also present, looking severe. It was clear she was more than pissed at the situation.

“Well, headmaster. This must be a new record,” said Mazhe, a scowl forming, “Harry barely makes it through the front door of the school and he's attacked.”

“When we find out who is responsible, make no mistake. The Commonwealth will be laying charges. We're through playing nice about this sort of thing,” said Mr. Sampson.

“An enemy of Mr. Potter is an enemy of the Commonwealth of Valicadia. It's that simple,” miss Collins added, “I echo my colleague's sentiments here. We're through playing nice.”

“Whatever resources you might need from Hogwarts are at your disposal,” said McGonagall, “Whatever my colleague here might believe, I am equally alarmed at the unfortunate number of incidents Mr. Potter finds himself involved in while in the castle.”

“Minerva...”

“Don't 'Minerva' me, Albus! The boy barely sets foot inside the door and he's attacked? Imagine if this were one of Molly's children?”

“Mum would have a fit and then some,” Ron muttered.

Harry shook his head. “Knowing Mrs. Weasley, she'd likely find a way to pull the lot of you out of here for good—given the draconian law in place here.”

He smirked.

“Of course, the headmaster here would also likely get a really nice howler while he's at it.”

“Yes, but I daresay, that isn't the case,” said Dumbledore, giving Harry a sad look. “I do regret that this has happened. I was gravely concerned when Professor McGonagall informed me you came to be injured.”

“Right. I really buy your concern, headmaster,” said Harry, running a hand through his hair.

It was then the fireplace roared to life, and Justin stepped out of the flames, along with another S.O.U. member.

“Harry. Just got word. What happened?”

“We still don't know,” Harry answered, as his friend and teacher joined the group.

“Alice let Tommy know what was going on, he'll be through in a few minutes. He was just about done with healer Ferris.”

“Sorry I interrupted your day, guys.”

“Don't worry about it. No matter what's going on, you're still my number one priority,” Justin answered.

“Right.” Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. How long am I here for?”

“A little more rest, and you should be back on your feet.”

Madam Pomfrey finally made her presence known, directing her wand at her patient.

“No lasting injuries that I'm able to detect, though the four of you were found collapsed on the floor.”

“Thank you.” Harry rubbed his face with his hands. “At the rate things are going, I'm about ready to try a magical oath not to ever set foot in the castle ever again. This place is a danger to my health and that of my friends.”

The fireplace roared to life again, this time expelling Tommy and Will. They stepped aside, as the flames flared a third time, and Alice stepped out of the fireplace.

“What happened?” Tommy asked, simply.

“Magical explosion of some sort,” Mazhe answered, “We just stepped through the doors into the school when there was an enormous blue flash. Brandon and Eric were only knocked out for an hour or so, but Harry and I were out for a couple of hours ourselves. He just woke up.”

“CSU on scene?” Will asked.

“They arrived an hour ago,” miss Collins answered.

Alice gave Dumbledore a scathing look. “If there is an inkling you had something to do with this, so help me...”

“I assure you—” Dumbledore began.

“Save it! We don't know exactly what you're trying to prove, but really...” Will smirked. “I should also add, your attempts to have Mr. Conlon removed from Harry's circle was... rather inspiring. Most unfortunate it went nowhere.”

Tommy gave the headmaster a murderous look. “That so?”

“According to a credible source, it was the headmaster here who's been squawking to the ICW about you being a dangerous influence to Harry. Indirectly, of course, knowing what sort of credibility he himself now has with the international body.”

“How come we weren't told about this—never mind me in particular?” Tommy wondered.

“The matter was dealt with swiftly and quietly,” miss Collins answered, “The Minister of Justice was not amused, I'll say that much. Come to think of it, the American Department of Magic weren't either. Again, from our sources, the American Secretary of Magic paid Fudge a visit the same day and raked him over the coals about it.”

“You're walking a dangerous line, headmaster,” said Mr. Sampson, “You keep at it, and it won't just be the Commonwealth and Voldemort you have to watch out for.”

“I strongly doubt the Americans will go to war with us,” said Dumbledore, dismissively.

“Whatever you want to believe, man,” said Brandon, shaking his head, “But this shit, really... Harry only returned to the school to see to a friend. Instead of it being a simple thing, it ends up being a Charlie-Foxtrot.”

“Charlie-Foxtrot?” George asked.

“Acronym for something I won't repeat here,” Brandon answered, while Tommy smirked in between casting death-glares at the headmaster.

“It's nearly lunch time. I think Poppy has it in hand. We'd best see to the Great Hall,” McGonagall decided, thinking it best to remove her wayward colleague before things got ugly.

“Be well, Harry,” said Dumbledore. And with that, the professors left the hospital wing.

“Good riddance,” Harry muttered.

After having lunch, the large group began to separate, with Alice and Will departing first through the fireplace, returning to Trevelyan. The crown attorneys were next, although they left by the door, to check in with the federal crime scene unit conducting the investigation in the castle's entry hall.

After spending some time with his friends at the school—the original reason for his visit, the group then made to return to the Ragnar by floo powder. Eric and Justin went first, followed by Mazhe, who took Tommy. Then, it was Brandon and Harry's turn.

“Ready?” Brandon asked.

“Yeah.” He looked at his school friends. “Don't feel bad about this. It comes with being me I guess. Keep up the letters, they remind me there are people here worth saving.”

“Harry...”

“Seriously guys. There aren't many of you. Best get off to class—don't you guys have Dark Arts Defence in an hour?”

“Thanks for the reminder, mate.” Ron gave Harry a sour look. “The woman's a nightmare, but I know Hermione's already told you that right?”

“I know.”

“We'd best be going,” Brandon prodded, snatching up a fistful of floo powder from the pot which hung on the side of the fireplace.

“Keep your heads down, guys. She won't be here forever.”

“Be safe, Harry.”

Brandon flung the floo powder into the grate, calling out, “Ragnar, Harry's Guest Suite!” The pair of them stepped into the roaring green flames.

Harry had travelled many times by floo powder, and so by now knew exactly what to expect. This, however, was bizarre to say the least. It felt like a ride on an out-of-control broomstick. He felt Brandon take an extra firm grip on his arm as they were hurled around for what seemed like an eternity. It finally ended when they were unceremoniously dumped back out of the grate they had tried to leave by.

“Harry? What happened?” Hermione asked, alarmed. They hadn't quite left the room. Harry looked down at himself, and it looked like he'd been through a cyclone.

“They were eaten by the floo network,” George sniggered.

“Guys. Not funny,” Harry muttered, spelling himself clean and getting to his feet. Brandon was already on his mobile, letting the others know there was a problem.

Within a matter of minutes, the group was reassembled in the hospital wing, and less than a half-hour later, the group expanded to include an official from the Commonwealth's Ministry of Transportation, as well as an official from the English Ministry's Floo Regulation department. After all, a malfunctioning floo connection was a grave concern for all parties. In extreme cases, the results could be... messy.

Rather than risk using the floo at all, Brandon decided they should just walk to the gates and use a port key. Harry was somewhat frustrated, being delayed from escaping the castle yet again, but he had to agree. If the floo network was glitching for some reason, it was better to play it safe.

“We'll walk with you down to the gate,” Hermione offered, but Harry shook his head. “You've missed enough class time already, right? I'll be fine, Hermione. Last thing I need is for you guys to get in trouble because of me.”

“If... if you're sure.”

“Positive. Now get going, the lot of you... though I could start casting tickling jinxes...”

“All right, all right, mate, sheesh!” Fred exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

Harry actually let out a sigh of relief as he and the group exited the castle. He had somehow suspected Dumbledore would try something to prevent his departure.

“You look relieved,” said Mazhe, as they started walking down the path toward the gates.

“Yeah. I was almost certain the old man would try something, y'know. This whole episode... felt wrong. I don't blame Hermione, but... we were ambushed within seconds of stepping inside the castle. Stuck in the hospital wing for hours. Then the floo doesn't work for me...”

“Harry, you and I are thinking exactly alike,” Brandon agreed, “Even we were caught off guard. As it is, the pair of us are likely in for a dressing down when we file our report.”

“I don't blame you guys.”

“From here on out, when it comes to the school here, one of us will be in front of you when we first step into the castle.”

“Unlikely—” Harry stopped. “Balls. I think I forgot... no, that's not it.” He reached into his pocket for a moment. He started walking again. “Anyway, it's unlikely I'll be coming back here now. This just about tears it. I can meet with my friends from the school in Hogsmeade and during holidays.”

He stopped again.

“I'm sure I forgot...”

“Harry?”

“It feels like... I left something back in the castle. But... no, I'm sure I didn't. C—come on, let's keep going. Sooner we get to the gates, sooner we can get back to the Ragnar.”

Brandon frowned, but said nothing as the party started walking again.

“Guys, d'you think we might get back into our routine? I know it's only been a couple of days, but... normalcy might be a good thing.”

“If that's what you want, Harry. Sure, I'm good for it,” said Tommy. There were voices of agreement from the others.

“Good. Idle hands are the devil's workshop and all that—aaah!”

Harry winced as a wave of pain surged through his body from head to toe. This resulted in wands being drawn, as everyone believed Harry was being attacked somehow.

“Guys... it's... it's inside,” Harry managed, dropping to one knee. The pain was still there, a slow, dull, throbbing ache.

“Where does it hurt?” Justin asked.

“Everywhere. A slow, dull, throbbing pain—aaaah!”

The pain flared again, making him want to collapse to the ground into a fetal position.

“Here. Pain-relieving potion,” said Justin, pulling a vial out of his satchel. Harry hurriedly consumed it.

“Thank you.”

The potion had the desired effect, and a minute later, they were moving again. Unfortunately, it wasn't to last, as only a few minutes after, an even stronger bout of pain wracked his body. It was accompanied by a powerful feeling of dread, a feeling he was doing something truly detrimental to his health.

“We have to turn around,” Harry decided. “Someone check me for curses and cursed objects. This isn't right.”

“Agreed. Brandon?” said Eric.

“All right. Stand still a moment.”

Brandon produced his wand, and began to cast a series of strong detection charms. Being a member of the S.O.U., it was a requirement that at least one member of a deployed team have some warding and curse-breaking skill.

For a solid ten minutes, Brandon tried every detection charm he knew, without any results.

“Shit.”

“Either there's nothing actually on you, or we're dealing with something above what Brandon knows how to detect,” said Eric.

“Ten galleons on option B,” Harry muttered, “It's Dumbledore. And come on, guys. Don't roll your eyes, you know his track record.”

“Best let Ragnar know what's going on,” Justin decided, “I'll let Will and Alice know so they can come meet us. For now let's just get back up to the school.”

“Behind enemy lines,” said Eric, “Tommy, you know that sort of protocol?”

“Yeah.”

“Let's go to Hagrid's for now. I'm sure Fang might like some company,” Harry decided, “Hagrid's likely got a class now.”

A half-hour later, there came the thunder-like crack which announced the arrival of the Ragnar. This time, rather than appear over the Black Lake as she'd done the previous autumn, she appeared directly over the school's Quidditch pitch. That coincided with the ringing of Brandon' mobile.

“McAllister. Yeah... down by the gamekeeper's residence... Yeah, we could try. We'll be straight up.” He hung up, and reached into his utility vest, producing a tennis ball. He touched it with his wand. “ _Portus_.”

Harry looked doubtful. “Still feels like I'm forgetting something.”

“The Ragnar's on the school grounds. It should work,” Brandon answered, “Get a finger on it, we go in ten.”

With a blur of appendages, the group landed in Harry's suite aboard the ship.

“Shor's balls...” Harry muttered, feeling the aching sensation flaring up. The pain wasn't nearly as much as it had been as they neared the school's gates, but still prevalent.

“It still hurts.” Justin said. It wasn't a question.

“Not as much, but...”

“We could probably get them to lower the ship's altitude, but she's already pushing safety limits as it is, being this close to the ground,” said Brandon, a scowl of frustration crossing his face. “Anything under three hundred meters is getting too close for comfort.”

“I appreciate the help, but... better they don't put Ragnar at risk,” said Harry. “I'll... have to stay in the castle until we find a solution.”

“Those, uh, rooms we had last fall... they were pretty nice,” said Tommy.

“And McGonagall will be likely more than happy to help out with that,” Harry remembered. “Let's get back up to the castle then. Or at least back down to the ground... this is really uncomfortable.”

“And so we're clear. We'll be with you at all times. You don't visit the bathroom without one or both of us,” said Eric. His tone left no room for arguments.

“Yeah. Um... I think I'll be staying around as well for the foreseeable future. I know Brynjolf was working on some sort of scheme in Markarth, but... you're more important right now, Harry,” said Mazhe.

As much as Harry wanted to protest this extra attention and protection, he was at the same time warmed by it. His circle of friends and then some, were all standing up to shield and protect him against the at present unknown threat to his being.

“Back to Hagrid's, then,” said Eric, producing another object, this time a golf ball.

The group did not travel up to the castle until the middle of dinner. It was decided that once again, the group would present themselves as a single unit. Harry donned his combat gear (which now fit him properly), while Mazhe went with his Guild armour (nearly black leather, with numerous pockets and pouches). Tommy, too, wore combat gear, although his was identical to that of Brandon and Eric. Even Justin had gone with protective armour which he had acquired during his travels with Harry and Mazhe. It was a full set of Nordic armour scavenged from a Draugr, which they had then been able to repair and restore. Mazhe had been able to enchant the curiass to provide a strong resistance to most magic.

The seven of them stepped into the Great Hall, and the noise very rapidly gave way to whispering and muttering amongst the gathered body. Harry simply ignored this as they passed up the isle, and came to a stop at the dais.

“Harry. It's good of you to—” Dumbledore began, but Brandon ignored him, and instead addressed McGonagall. They were all on the same page with regard to who was trustworthy at Hogwarts.

“Deputy headmistress. If we could have a word in private.”

“Mr. McAllister, I'm sure—”

“Professor, we don't trust your colleague.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, but pushed her chair back and rose. “Very well. Follow me.”

“Minerva...”

“Albus, for heavens' sake! I believe I am more than competent in dealing with this party on my own,” Professor McGonagall snapped.

“I believe I should be attending this meeting as well,” said a squat witch seated at the far end of the staff table. She spoke in a breathless, girly tone. To Harry, she somewhat resembled a toad.

Brandon gave the witch a toothy smile. Harry had seen that expression numerous times before. It was usually followed by lots of pain.

“Your input is neither needed nor wanted, madam high inquisitor.”

That had students whispering and muttering again, as the high inquisitor looked like she'd just been slapped.

“I'll have you know—”

“Do follow me,” said Professors McGonagall, pursing her lips again, “I have this in hand, Delores.”

In the anteroom, the deputy headmistress posed the question.

“Why is it you're still here, Potter?”

“I can't leave, professor. Something's preventing me from leaving the school's grounds.”

“He was blocked from leaving by floo powder. Then, as we were walking down toward the gates, he doubled over in pain twice,” Eric explained.

“That was after I started getting sensations like I was forgetting something back in the castle,” Harry added.

“Professor, what we need is use of the guest rooms that were provided last fall, just until we can figure out what's going on,” said Justin, “The government will likely be sending in a team of curse-breakers and warders, so we'll also be hooking up a floo connection.”

“The rooms should still be in usable order. You may call on Musy, she will see to any other needs you might have,” said McGonagall.

“Thank you, professor. Though it's likely I'll be having Dobby help me out here. I don't know what game is afoot here, but the less contact I have with people here, the better.”

“I can understand your need for caution. However, my offer is open. Should you need anything additional, don't hesitate to come see me.”

“Thank you. I'll keep that in mind.”

“C'mon, Harry, best get up to the rooms and get things set up. We'll still need to get someone from Floo Management in.”

The sun had long set by the time the fireplace had been hooked up to the floo network. Immediately after the official from Floo Management left, Alice, Will, and the two crown attorneys arrived in quick succession. This time pensive memories were reviewed from everyone, so the attorneys could understand what was going on. Copies of the memories were made, to be shared with other departments, including the Arcane Sciences department—the Commonwealth's version of the Department of Mysteries. As much as Harry hated the idea of his business being shared with so many people, he understood there was an end goal in mind. Extra pairs of eyes might spot something they were missing.

* * *

With his unexpected imprisonment at the school, Harry was forced to revise much of his training schedule. Given he still had his special chest, the morning exercise routine was easily kept. Somewhat of a silver lining, Cedric was able to join them again. The other three Triwizard champions had joined the group for training over most of the summer, but with the beginning of school, it was virtually prohibitive for the others to leave their respective schools.

His business back in Skyrim was another matter. He sent off three missives, each of them apologizing and explaining the situation: he would be unavailable to attend training for the foreseeable future. Additionally, a letter was penned to the College's new Arch-mage, with a similar explanation. Mazhe was more than happy to see to their delivery.

His academic schedule changed very little, however. His study material all came from _Sir Malcolm Davis Institute_ as it was, and so that continued, although Harry was sure to inform the school what was going on. Equally, both Sirius and Remus, as well as Justin, were more than happy to continue to work as private tutors. Considering the set of rooms was practically a separate flat, Harry was very rarely outside of them. In addition, with Dobby's help, all the food was provided from the Ragnar. Something might have bound him to the castle, but that didn't mean he had to socialize with its occupants.

Of course, that didn't mean he didn't have visitors. Over the next few days, it became quite common for his school friends to visit after dinner. Harry had a strong suspicion Hermione simply enjoyed the less-noisy common room of his suite compared to that of Gryffindor tower.

It was after dinner on September 21, that Hermione asked Harry to restart his study group.

“She's a nightmare, Harry. Have you even seen our text book for this year?” Hermione asked, digging in her school bag, and pulling out the item in question.

Harry took it and looked at the cover. “ _Defensive Magical Theory_ , by Wilbert Slinkhard.”

“Great reading, if you want a nap,” Ron muttered, while Harry flipped the book open to a random page.

Ron wasn't joking. The material was dry and statistical, written for a much more mature audience. This wasn't something really appropriate for the age group.

“Gods... I've read enough advanced text books, and this—I would've walked out of her classroom within the first week.”

“So you'll help out?” Ron asked.

“It'll likely be on the weekends again. Sunday afternoons, we'll use the same classroom—unless it's been claimed this year.”

“Still unused, as far as I know.”

“Pass the word to anyone who might be interested. Might as well make it an option to others, Harry,” said Mazhe.

“No one who'll cause problems.”

“We know that, Harry!” Hermione huffed.

“We can sort that out,” said Eric, “Anyone causing a problem will be kicked out and told not to come back. That simple.”

“And it's a given we'll be joining Harry at such meetings.”

“Brandon and I will be with Harry at all times while he's in the castle. Just to prevent further incidents,” Eric added.

“And knowing these guys, they'll likely have a few things to show as it is. And of course we'll be revising for O.W.L.s. I doubt she's even doing that much, if this is the text book,” Harry muttered.

“You're right, she's not. She just has us sitting at our desks, reading from this dreadful text book.”

“Worse,” Ron added, “I heard a Ravenclaw third-year skived off her class. She assigned him a detention and now he's petrified of her.”

Brandon and Eric looked at each other, the unspoken agreement on a private meeting to be had later.

* * *

On September 23, Harry got a welcome surprise as they finished up dinner. Mazhe had been away for part of the afternoon, but it became very apparent as to why. The fireplace roared to life, and Mazhe stepped out of it, with Brynjolf in tow. They stepped aside, and the flames again flared up, this time expelling Niruin and Delvin.

“Mazhe! Are you mental?!” Harry exclaimed, “Gods, if Dumbledore shows up—”

“But he won't be, now, will he?” said Brandon, nodding to the Maurauders' map which lay open on the table. The dinner dishes were just starting to vanish, but an ice chest filled with beverages of various sorts still remained.

“Gentlemen, come join us,” Eric invited, indicating seats at the table. Harry, meanwhile, still glared at Mazhe. It was bad enough he was present... but adding others? Then again, how much time did Harry's circle spend with him in Tamriel?

He blew out a breath. It was still dangerous. Of the four who had just come through the floo, only two were actively magical. In all the time Harry had known Delvin and Brynjolf, he'd never seen either of them actually practice magic. It was no surprise for the muscular Nord, considering their suspicions surrounding the craft; Delvin, on the other hand, was a Breton, just like Mazhe.

Brynjolf snatched up a bottle of mead from the ice chest and popped the top. “Seems you've gotten yourself into another bind, lad.”

“You could say that.” Harry looked at his best friend. “Really. Should've asked first. It's dangerous.”

“And you lot coming into our world isn't?” Delvin challenged, “It's a two-way current, is it not?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How much has your schedule changed? Friday afternoons still good for 'ya?”

“Yeah. Been using my special room to practice on my own.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, and then smirked.

“What?” Mazhe asked.

“Well... knowing this is a thousand-year-old castle... and considering the amount of... rather expensive artefacts that might be within its walls...”

“Harry...” Justin gave Harry a pointed look, not liking where his young friend was going with the conversation.

“What? The old man's stomped on my dick nerve AGAIN. So yes... where was I? Expensive artefacts, right. _Accio_ map.”

The Maurauders' map fluttered into Harry's outstretched hand.

“Show me Dumbledore.” The map seemed to scroll to the headmaster's location, more specifically, his office.

“Convenient. The headmaster's office.”

“It's password protected,” Justin reminded.

“Dobby.”

_Pop_. “Harry Potter sir call for Dobby?”

Harry grinned madly. “You wouldn't happen to know the password for the headmaster's office these days?”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. “It is being 'Mars Bars'.”

“Excellent.” he thought for a moment. “How would you like to help my friends here 'acquire' a few items from the headmaster's office? I once heard him complain he had far too many things.”

“Harry, seriously.”

“Justin. I have had it up to--” he blew a hand over top of his head, “-- _here_ , with that sack of dragon shit and his schemes! I'm done! Robbing his office is the _lightest_ of what I'd truly like to do to the man! _Meddling old goat fucker_...”

Both Brynjolf and Delvin couldn't help but laugh at the young wizard's outburst. Dobby was still looking up at Harry expectantly.

“When's the mark sleep?” Delvin asked.

“Not sure. Dobby? D'you have any idea?”

“Dumblydore is being working late mostly, Harry Potter sir. He bees up early, sleeps five hours at most. But Dobby is suggesting putting sleeping potion in his tea.”

“That's brilliant! D'you mind?” The elf only nodded enthusiastically, and popped away.

“One other problem, Harry,” said Eric, “You don't account for the school portraits.”

“Invisibility cloaks.”

“No. Better yet.” Brandon reached into one of the pockets of his utility vest, and produced a small spherical object. “Drop that on the floor just as you open the door. It's a spell that works against magical portraits. It'll freeze them in place and stun their occupants for several hours.”

“What would you need something like that for?” Mazhe wondered.

“Think about it,” Eric answered, “Magical portraits might as well be live people. They're witnesses. When we're dealing with a mark, we take that into careful consideration.”

“You mean murder. You work like the Dark Brotherhood,” Niruin guessed.

“Uh, well... somewhat,” Brandon answered, “The Dark Brotherhood in Tamriel isn't government-sanctioned, though, is it?”

“A fair assessment,” Brynjolf agreed.

“The Special Operations Unit is at the express pleasure of the Queen. We act under her direct orders.”

“Have... you ever... um...” Harry wondered.

“I've been part of five operations, two of them which I've actually led,” Brandon answered, “And no, I won't tell you the who, when, or where. But you do understand that being part of such an operation is not something I take lightly. When we're assigned a mark, the nature is of national security. In most cases, the stability of the government depends on our action—and in the most extreme cases, the very life of her majesty.”

“Counter-assassin,” Delvin spoke.

“Exactly. The S.O.U. has a public, and a very private face.”

“Much like the Guild,” said Mazhe, “There are things the public knows. Then there are things that the public, um, sort of knows. Then there are things the public thinks they know.” He leaned back in his seat, and took a long drink from his bottle of mead. “C'mon, guys, it's a standard Sweep job. Fuelled by revenge, but the Guild can only benefit.”

“It's all right lad, he's got us sold,” said Brynjolf.

Harry had laid the map back on the table, and the Nord was watching the small dots moving about with interest. “With that little item, it'll be more than safe.”

“We can loan you guys a few additional items just to ensure there are no complications...” Brandon offered.

* * *

Saturday morning was not a good morning for Albus Dumbledore. Up to the previous evening, things had actually gone quite smoothly. Harry was back in the castle, and wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. Sure, Minerva had let him have it on the issue, but, it was for the greater good. They would all understand eventually.

Then, there came the previous evening. The wards had notified him of three additional individuals visiting Harry immediately following dinner. The boy had mentioned something about outside tutors and the like, so that was likely it. The last thing he clearly remembered was having another argument through the floo with Cornelius.

That morning, he had woken up in his bed with no recollection of how he got there, hearing a commotion in the office. He'd hurriedly dressed, and stepped out into the office, to very quickly discover the reason for the uproar: his office looked practically bare. Sure, most of the books were still on the bookshelf, but anything else of value had vanished. That included a set of very important little gadgets that had rested on his desk, charmed to monitor a certain wayward boy. His office felt... empty.

“Merlin's beard.”

“Quite a spot of trouble we have, headmaster,” spoke the portrait of Armando Dippet.

“Grave circumstances, I agree. Thieves at Hogwarts. This hasn't happened in five centuries,” spoke another portrait high up on the wall.

“Oh, I daresay thievery does happen within the castle's walls. Just not on this... scale.”

Dumbledore's eyes finally came to rest on the up to yesterday unblemished surface of his heavy desk. A symbol had been scratched into it: a diamond, with a circle at its centre. He was perplexed, as he drew his wand, and attempted to repair the damage—he'd not seen this sort of symbol before.

The repair charm he cast had no effect, other than to make the symbol blaze red a moment. That did give him a clue as to who might be responsible, but...

“Did any of you see anything?” he questioned, simply.

“No headmaster, we were frozen and stunned for several hours last night,” answered another portrait mid-way up the wall. Fawkes, meanwhile, let out a musical call that sounded like laughter, and Dumbledore could swear the bird was smirking at him.

Realizing it was nearly time to head to the Great Hall for breakfast, he gestured at himself and became instantly dressed in his customary robes. Still, he pondered the situation and who was likely responsible. A student? Or someone else?

He stepped out of the office, and turned to cast a strong ward on the door, only to stop. Carved into it, was yet another symbol. A circle, with a square inside of it, touching the edge of the circle. Attempts to banish the graffiti met with the same result as with the desk. It only blazed red for a moment, but remained, as if to mock the headmaster. No, it was not a good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: After a series of decrees and restrictions interfere with the Commonwealth's protection placed with Harry, the Queen takes drastic steps to protect her ward._   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: So, an explanation of the two symbols. Both are symbols of the Skyrim Thieves Guild. The first symbol (diamond with a circle neatly fit inside it) marks the Guild itself. The second symbol (circle with a square neatly filling it) indicates an empty mark (pass over this place, nothing of note here)._   
> _Normally, the Guild would not leave any sort of calling card. But this instance, the headmaster wouldn't have any clue what it meant, and it would drive him nuts. I should also point out, that most definitely, Delvin, Brynjolf, and Niruin would have had help from Harry and his friends to pull this off. They would have emptied his office of anything valuable, with the exception of the books and portraits._


	19. Decrees and Ultimatums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After a series of decrees and restrictions interfere with the Commonwealth's protection placed with Harry, the Queen takes drastic steps to protect her ward._

**20: DECREES AND ULTIMATUMS**

**September 26 – November 21, 2005**

* * *

In the early hours of September 26, Harry was jolted awake by a strong surge of pain in his scar, along with what felt like an emotional spike. Up to now, he'd never experienced anything like that—at least nothing to do with his scar. He sat up and winced. It was still throbbing, although it was lessening. What was _that_ all about?

It was lunch time before Harry contacted anyone back in the Commonwealth about what he'd experienced that morning, given the time difference. Naturally, both Will and Alice travelled back through the floo, so they could talk about the matter face to face. It also meant sharing another pensieve memory (it seemed like he was doing a lot of that recently).

The discussion went nowhere, really, and an hour later, the two social workers left by floo powder. Harry was then able to get back to his afternoon schedule—although somewhat distracted by the incident early that morning.

That evening, shortly after Harry had gone to bed, Brandon called on Dobby.

“How can Dobby help Harry Potter's friends?” the excited elf asked.

“We need your help with something. You're able to get into the headmaster's office?”

“Of course! We is maintaining and cleaning, so we come and go as we need to,” Dobby answered.

“That's great,” said Eric. “See, what we need, is one of these—” he held out a small gadget in his hand, “—put in the headmaster's office. Now the important thing is, it needs to be put somewhere where he won't notice it, but also in a place that's gonna see the whole room.”

“You's spying on Dumblydore?”

“Yes. This place was riddled with listening devices when we come in here. So two can play at that game. This is all in order to keep Harry safe while he's here. Are you able to help us?” Brandon asked.

“Dobby knows of perfect place for this,” the elf answered, enthusiastically.

“Remember. Don't be seen.”

“Dobby is being careful.” The elf took the camera, and vanished with a soft _pop_.

“What'll that get us?” Tommy had been sitting by the fireplace, a notebook computer on his lap.

“Giving the old man just enough rope to hang himself. The old wizard thinks he can operate above the law? The government will prove him very wrong. This is just one of a few tools we'll be deploying to do exactly that.”

“How far's the government willing to go?”

“You remember our conversation the other night? More specifically Harry's question?”

“Yeah,” said Tommy. “You mean... you guys might off the old man?”

“Last club out of the bag, but, if the situation calls for it? Absolutely. Harry's safety truly is our topmost priority, and if the old man continues to interfere with Harry's business...”

“Right.” Tommy made a sour face. “Man walks around like his shit don't stink.”

Eric let out a hollow laugh. “Department of Information's doing some deep digs into Dumbledore's background. His business dealings, political connections, the whole nine yards. No one is lily-white, and with the Department's resources, you can be sure we'll find shit he won't be able to bury in his closet.”

“So actually conducting an 'operation' against him, very unlikely. There'll be other ways we can neutralize him,” Brandon added.

* * *

On September 28, Harry surprised the group by deciding to take breakfast in the Great Hall with his (former) classmates. Momentarily confused by the abrupt decision, Brandon and Eric were still more than prepared to ensure his safety. The rest of Harry's circle insisted on joining him, and so it was, the large entourage invaded the Great Hall half-way through breakfast.

“Harry!” Hermione greeted, “Err... come join us.”

“Don't mind if I do,” Harry grinned, swinging a leg over the bench and sitting down at the Gryffindor table. In no time, his circle had found seats close to him, while Brandon took up a position against the wall, and Eric remained at the doors. Justin debated for a moment, then joined Brandon, rather than sit with the others.

“Glad you came down, mate,” said Ron, “Thought you were holed up in your rooms though.”

“Just wanted a change I guess,” Harry answered with a shrug, as a plate of prepared food appeared in front of him. It didn't matter where he took his meals, the arrangement was in place that under no circumstances would anyone save for Dobby provide the actual food. Everything was either prepared on the Ragnar, or on a number of occasions, collected from the Ragged Flagon. Harry had a strong liking for Vekel's seared slaughterfish.

That morning's breakfast consisted of a boiled egg, porridge, a slice of ham, a few slices of fruit, and some toast with jam.

“A special order? Can we get that?” Dean asked from further down the table.

“I'm sure if you asked the kitchen very nicely, they might,” Harry answered, with a shrug.

“Good breakfast's important,” said Brandon, “Whole wheat bread, not a lot of sugar, lots of protein.”

“You guys know of my training before breakfast, right?”

“You're still doin' that?” Seamus looked surprised.

“You think this--” Harry gestured to himself, “--is easy to keep up? It's something I have to maintain.”

Of course, the students around him understood at once. Though in reality he was fifteen, Harry looked to be an adult, likely twenty or so, rather than a gangly teenager. In fact, to look at Harry and his circle of friends, they were all well-built physically.

“Seriously, mate, how come you came down?” Ron wondered.

“I... Like I said, just felt that I needed a change. The headmaster's meddling aside, it is somewhat nice to sit with my friends here at the school.”

He chanced a glance up at the head table, and sure enough, the old man's eyes were boring down on him, as were those of a squat witch on the far right side of the table.

“So if you're here, but not attending class... are you keeping up with your year?” Ginny wondered.

“Yeah, definitely. But I'm getting material from the Commonwealth, and my godfather's helping, as is Rem—err... Professor Lupin.”

“Lucky you,” Seamus muttered.

“I know she's bad, guys. I'll see if Professor Lupin wouldn't mind teaching the lesson this Sunday. It's our O.W.L. Year, and _she_ \--” Harry flicked his eyes up to the head table again, “--is a sure way to make all of you fail horribly on an important exam.”

“Harry...”

“O' friend of ours...”

Harry craned his neck to find two identical twins standing behind him.

“Word is our gallant headmaster had an unwelcome group of visitors to his office Friday,” said Fred.

“Yeah, it seems he's missing a few bits and bobs.”

“...Did say he had far too many at one time.”

“Indeed Forge, that he said indeed.”

“Guys,” Harry grinned. “Just maybe something happened. I heard it was nifflers—they do like shiny things right?”

Ron burst into laughter, while Hermione was sent into a fit of giggles.

* * *

Friday afternoon, Brynjolf once again joined his fellow guild members during Harry's afternoon lesson.

“Harry, if I might have a word.”

“Uh... I was going to have dinner in the Great Hall.”

“Harry... I'm sure your friends won't miss you,” said Brandon.

“Right, yeah...” Harry indicated they follow, and led them into the dining room that doubled as a conference room. Dinner was already set out, and it seemed only moments after Harry stepped into the room, a prepared plate appeared.

“Join us?”

“Don't mind if I do.”

Brynjolf pulled up a seat across from the young wizard, with Delvin and Niruin taking seats further down. The table was big enough to seat sixteen easily, considering the set of rooms had originally been designed for wealthy families visiting the school. The rest of the group took places, and while they began to eat, Brynjolf got straight to the point.

“Lad, you've impressed the lot of us. Even Mercer's took notice.”

He reached into his pockets and pulled out a parchment.

“The heist on Fredas(1) was one of the largest we've pulled in perhaps a decade.”

Harry let a nasty smirk come to his lips.

“Good. Good the Guild is able to profit from my ire.” He glanced at the parchment, and smirked again. “That's a lot of gold.”

“Harry, that's more gold than a typical thief makes in a lifetime,” said Delvin, “You might not've gone with us an' pulled it off, but you're the mastermind behind it. That little figure at the bottom's what waits for you next time you're in the Flagon.”

“Better news still, Tonilia's still working on selling off some bits, so this is still an early figure. The point is, lad, there is a place for you in the Guild. Whether you actually do jobs or not, there are lots of other ways you can be of benefit to us.”

“I... I'll have to think about it.”

“Take your time. We know you're tied up with a few unfortunate circumstances, but know the Guild is there for you.”

Harry had to smile at that. It was confirmation of something he already knew. “And Mercer?”

“He's coming around. Like I said, he most certainly took notice of the haul we dragged into the cistern Loredas(2). He was more than surprised when we explained who was behind it.”

“Which means you've more than earned his respect, Harry,” said Niruin, between bites.

“I should mention that from here on, you don't pay for your meals from Vekel.”

“I couldn't... I can more than afford it,” said Harry, “I won't take advantage of people.”

“Consider it a reward for your efforts.”

“It's not charity, Harry,” said Brandon.

“I guess. Tell him I said thank you.”

Harry thought for a moment and then smirked. “Next time I need to exercise my displeasure, perhaps we might 'clean out' the trophy room. Lots and lots of shiny trinkets in there probably worth more than a few Septims.”

“Harry, you don't need to call on us, given your skill,” said Delvin, with a shake of the head, “By the Eight, with that cloak of yours alone, you could strip a place 'an they'd be none the wiser.”

Harry looked at Brynjolf. “Just to be clear though. I'll never personally steal from someone or hurt someone who doesn't deserve it. As a punishment for a genuine wrong? Sure. But not otherwise.”

“I think we can agree to that.” Brynjolf smiled. “Welcome to the family, lad.”

Justin let out a sigh, but had to smirk. The boy was finding a new family. Not exactly the best choice, but, who was he to get in the way of it?

* * *

Saturday was spent as a down day for the most part, save for the early morning exercises, and a visit from a warder and curse-breaker employed by the Ministry of Defence. The witch spent more than an hour casting every detection charm in her arsenal, in an attempt to determine exactly what was going on that was keeping Harry from leaving the Hogwarts grounds. Much like Brandon, her scans came up empty. However, she was of agreement that there was something going on, given her observation of what happened when he tried to leave the grounds. She had been more than apologetic for the pain that resulted.

That afternoon, Harry took to the air on his broom, the first time doing so at Hogwarts. His circle took turns riding with him, while Justin, Brandon and Eric took to the sky on brooms of their own. In addition, Capt. Rowland provided security from the Ragnar, ensuring no incident happened while Harry was aloft.

“Harry, I think we have an observer.”

Eric pointed to the alcove high up over the castle's main entrance. Sure enough, though they couldn't see the face, the pink outfit was a dead giveaway.

“I'm pretty sure she's tried to get into our rooms at least twice now,” said Justin, “You guys know how powerful she is?”

“Not that powerful,” said Brandon, as he pulled alongside. “Mediocre student at best. She's more of a mouth than anything. Bark worse than her bite, that kind of shit.”

“Problem is, she's got the ear of the minister, senior undersecretary or something like that. She's a power-hungry bureaucrat, and that kind of thing makes her dangerous,” said Eric.

“As far as her getting into our rooms, no, that's not ever gonna happen. We're aware of both her attempts. Next time she does it, the results will be... painful.”

“Dumbledore on the other hand... he wants in, there's nothing we can do to keep him out,” said Eric, “You won't believe the number of bugs we've removed since we've been set up here.”

“Bug?” Harry was confused.

“Uh, listening device. Being magical, he can make just about anything a listening device. We sweep for them every time we've been away. It's also the reason we generally have you guys wait outside a moment. Our security check and so on,” Brandon explained.

“Though what I hear, there might be more of us on the way, so there's always security in the suite while we're away,” Eric added.

“Schaffer's been wanting to work with us again, so has Sampson.”

Harry let out a sigh. “More people having to protect my ass. They show up, I'll definitely consider emptying the trophy room as payment.”

Monday morning, Harry found a large notice tacked to the message board in the common area of the suite. It was printed in large block letters, with an official-looking seal at the bottom, beside a neat and curly signature.

 

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_The flying of any broomstick on the grounds of Hogwarts outside of an officially-sanctioned Quidditch match is henceforth forbidden. Any student in violation of this order will be expelled._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

_Signed: Delores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

 

Harry simply smirked at the edict. The woman obviously did not understand the fact he was not a student of the school in any capacity.

“What's that?” Tommy joined Harry in looking at the notice.

“The High Inquisitor didn't like us flying around on broomsticks over the weekend,” said Harry. “Not that it really affects me. Key word here, 'student'. I'm not a student here.”

* * *

That was not the end of the edicts. If anything, it was only the beginning. Following a successful week of classes and training, Harry found yet another notice tacked up on the notice board in the same block-lettering. He'd been drawn into the common area by arguing.

 

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_No fireplace within the school may be connected to the floo network without the knowledge or approval of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

_Signed: Delores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

 

That would explain the unwelcome visitor, he realized.

“Sir, you're not getting into the rooms,” Brandon was saying, wand drawn.

“You have no choice in the matter!” the pudgy little fellow snapped back, “By order of the Ministry--”

“This room is under the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth of Valicadia, not Magical England. Leave. Before we take further steps.”

That, naturally, was not the end of it. The pudgy wizard stormed off, but returned ten minutes later, with both the headmaster and the High Inquisitor. That sealed it, and within minutes the pudgy wizard was kneeling at the fireplace, undoing the connection. Brandon was once again on his mobile.

Eric smirked, seeing Umbridge's beady eyes observing Brandon. “Any edict you can come up with will have no bearing on us, madam Umbridge.”

“We'll see now, won't we?” the squat witch simpered.

“I guess we will. Just know, whatever game you've got afoot here, it can't last forever.”

Brandon disconnected his call.

“Great. Looks like the extra security detail will be meeting us in an hour. So tell us, headmaster, which fireplace can we expect to meet Harry's instructors and trainers when they're needed?”

“I... this is most inappropriate in the first place, that individuals from a foreign country are coming and going through the floo network, bypassing all the protocols and walking about the castle as if they belong here. This decree was put in place to put a stop to this nonsense,” said Umbridge. She let out a girly laugh. “You will meet any guest like any other would; down at the gates to the grounds.”

“That's not up to you, madam...” Brandon began.

“But I daresay, that sort of thing is in my purview. And, in this case, I do have to agree with the High Inquisitor on the matter. If Harry has private trainers and instructors, he will have to meet them at the gate to the school,” said Dumbledore, gravely.

“Interesting you say that,” said Tommy, from the door leading into the dining room. “See, there's a small problem where he gets this excruciating pain over his entire body before he's even half-way down to the gate. So tell us oh wise one, how's he supposed to make it down to the gate?”

“We'll have to do it,” said Brandon. “Or other members of the additional security detail.”

He turned back to Umbridge.

“Congratulations. You've just been added to a very exclusive list of individuals who have now earned the Queen's personal displeasure.”

“Your threats do not scare me dear.”

“Whatever you wanna believe, madam. Now that this irritating piece of business is finished, get out.”

“I will not be—”

_ZZZAP_. A crackling arc of purple electricity impacted with the wall, leaving a scorch mark beside the door. Harry now stood beside Tommy, a purple glow still twisting and writhing in his left hand.

“ _Get. Out_.”

Early the following morning, Harry and Mazhe visited the anteroom off the Great Hall. Everything that could be moved was taken, including the cases; the room was left virtually bare. Mazhe was more than happy to take the 'acquired' items back to the Thieves Guild, and it was Justin who escorted him down to the Three Broomsticks, to use the fire there.

The whispering at breakfast that morning was fast and furious, and the reason became immediately apparent. Four crimson-robed Aurors were speaking in hushed tones with the headmaster, who actually looked angry that morning.

'Wonder if he found the calling card yet,' Harry thought, as he focused on his breakfast. This time it had been Mazhe to leave the Guild calling card, scratched into the stone floor. Like the others, any attempt to remove it would be futile.

Sure, others had asked if he knew, but he feigned ignorance. He was in his suite all night. Or so his story went. It wasn't like his circle would ever betray his secrets. If anything, pulling off the heist that morning had given him a bit of a charge, a rush. It was a crime, but really... what Dumbledore was doing to him was something far worse. Harry felt no remorse for his deeds. He'd found a way to lash out at the old man, and seeing fury blaze in the wizard's eyes gave him great satisfaction.

Friday, Harry once again met with Delvin and Niruin, who had been escorted up to the castle by members of the S.O.U. The two thieves brought with them a wrapped bundle, as well as a sealed parchment for Harry.

“Brynjolf sends his regards,” said Delvin, as he passed over the package, “as does Tonilia. We had to guess your size, hope it fits.”

“Hope what—Shor's beard...” Harry stammered, opening the package. Contained within was a set of armour exactly like Mazhe's.

“Thank you!”

“You're one of us now, it's only fitting you look the part,” said Niruin, with a grin. Harry set the armour on the table, then opened the parchment.

 

_Harry,_

_The goods you sent us Tirdas(3) has once again netted us a fortune, although perhaps a little less than your first, though for a different reason. Items with special carvings and engravings do take a little bit of extra effort to liquidate, just something to keep in mind for future reference. Some materials were simply smelted back into gold and silver ingots, which does lose some of its value._

_No matter, it has meant for a significant profit, something we can only hope continues._

_I'm sure Delvin has delivered your new armour with this missive. That comes with the blessing of Mercer, who is more than impressed with your efforts of the past two weeks. I have explained to him that this is likely not to be a consistent state of things, but he is no less impressed._

_Well done, lad._

_Brynjolf_

 

Harry again smirked as he re-folded the parchment, and slipped it into his rucksack. They might be a band of criminals, but they treated him equally as well as the College did, and perhaps just a little better. The Thieves Guild were a close-knit group, much like a family.

“Tell both Brynjolf and Mercer I said thank you. Now I guess we'd best get started, I know your time is valuable and so on.”

“This is true,” Niruin agreed. “Tell me, Harry, have you ever used one of these?” The Bosmer pulled a crossbow(4) out of his satchel...

* * *

_October 17, 2005 / 17 Frostfall, 4E200_

Yesterday had proven to be another very productive afternoon, spent in the vacant classroom on the second floor. Remus had once again ran the lesson, using the course syllabus provided by Sir Malcolm Davis Institute. Given he was teaching students from all years (a number of seventh years were also attending the study group, given it was their N.E.W.T. year), it did make it a little more difficult to give a lot of attention to one group. Remus was more than adept, however, and with Harry's help, it was more than constructive.

If anything, those Sunday afternoons were becoming a high point of his imprisonment at the school, keeping him focused. If he was forced to be there, then why couldn't something constructive come of it? Not to mention, it did bring in extra practice of his skills.

Therefore, the large notice tacked to the notice board that morning quite literally made him scream with rage.

 

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_All student organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded._

_An organization, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students._

_Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_No student organization, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor._

_Any student found to have formed, or belong to, an organization, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

_Signed: Delores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor(5)_

 

“Harry? What's wrong?” Justin had come out of his room, still only partly dressed.

“Uh, same question.” Tommy had joined him at the doorway to their separate rooms.

“That meddling... toad! I'll roast her alive!” Harry fumed, tearing the offensive notice off the board, and making to toss it into the fireplace.

“Let us see it,” said Eric, pulling the notice out of Harry's hand.

“You won't be roasting anyone, Harry,” said Brandon, joining Eric in looking over the notice. The pair of them had been in the dining room.

“I'll be making some sort of announcement at breakfast, I think,” Harry said, viciously, “I've got a few very choice words for the _High Inquisitor._ ”

“Sure that's a good idea?” Justin asked, jamming a tee shirt on over his head and straightening it out.

“Why not? I'm not a student here, so I think I've got a bit of lee way. _Accio_ armour...”

Harry waited until the Great Hall was busy with students, before rising to his feet and placing his wand at his throat. “ _Sonorus_.”

“Sorry to interrupt everyone's breakfast, but I've got a few words.”

The room became silent.

“Since I am merely a... shall we say... forced guest of the castle, I think I might have a little lee way here with what I'm about to say. Madam Umbridge, I have no idea what you're truly trying to prove here, but your actions are detrimental to the future of England's wizarding society.

“ _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ is a core subject, required by a good many professions within the wizarding world. According to the International Confederations of Wizards' _own set of guidelines_ , there is both a theoretical and a _practical_ part of the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. level exams. So tell us, professor. How is it you expect your students to pass both parts of the exam, when the text books you have provided them are better suited for an introduction at best?”

“I... the Ministry--” Umbridge sputtered, caught off guard by the young wizard's words.

“Yes, I've heard of the Ministry and its edicts. What are they truly afraid of? That the young witches and wizards in this room might actually grow a brain and think for themselves?”

“I never!”

“I'm not done. Students of Hogwarts. This individual should not be teaching. She doesn't even meet the requirements of the post—at least an 'Exceeds Expectations' grade in her Dark Arts Defence N.E.W.T. By that alone, the headmaster does have the right to dismiss her—although I know he's a bit ham stringed by the Ministry on that regard.”

He glanced over at Dumbledore, and noted he seemed to very much approve of his words up to this point.

“Students, you all have a right to fair treatment within these walls, and equally, a chance at a decent grade. This latest decree announced by this loathsome individual was specifically crafted at the study group I formed, with the hopes of helping you. So to each of you who attended with the hopes of actually learning something this year, I apologize.”

“Mr. Potter, the Ministry--”

“Can fuck off,” Harry finished, “To my friends and peers here, write to your parents. Tell them what's going on here. Have them protest to the board of governors, to the Ministry itself. With enough complaints, they will have to act, numbers mean something. _Quietus_.”

“ _Sonorus_ ,” said Brandon, “Additionally, it should also be noted that all letters and other forms of communication are being monitored. Any letters needing to be delivered may be brought up to Mr. Potter's private rooms, and we'll see they are delivered without being intercepted, a promise we can make on behalf of the Commonwealth of Valicadia. _Quietus_.”

Professor Umbridge looked like she'd been slapped.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, was inwardly smirking. The boy had most certainly risen to the occasion. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Ministry edicts affected him personally. He was somewhat surprised the outburst hadn't come sooner, with the removal of the floo from his quarters. The charms and enchantments he had placed on the boy a few weeks prior were finally beginning to bore fruit. Perhaps it was time for phase two, then.

That evening, Harry was swamped with a pile of letters from the student body... even a number of Slytherins had come forward with letters, somewhat surprising, considering the house and its reputation. Perhaps Snape had said something. Or not. No, that would risk his cover. Something else at play, then?

Cedric had collected a stack of letters from his house mates, and the same had repeated with Ron and Hermione. There was a general consensus in the school: Delores Umbridge was a foul and loathsome being who needed to be removed at the earliest convenience.

Unfortunately, even with the letters and pressure from the parents, the situation did not change. Umbridge was still firmly planted at Hogwarts, and it looked like something far more substantial had to occur before she would be removed. The Commonwealth was certainly working on it, much like they were on the issue of Dumbledore, but the investigation wasn't something that could be finished overnight. It would take some time.

In the meantime, Harry began to join Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room after dinner. Additionally, he was then taking all of his meals in the Great Hall, somewhat to the confusion of his circle. Short weeks prior, he had been insistent that under no circumstances would they be actively socializing outside of the set of rooms provided them. Now, outside of study and sleep, Harry was spending more and more time out about in the castle.

By the end of October, he was spending every evening up in Gryffindor tower—although at least one of his circle, as well as both SOU members joined him. No matter what, security had to be upheld, whether he liked it or not. And, if he was honest with himself, Harry had to agree that both Brandon and Eric were more than likable people.

* * *

_November 1, 2005_

Harry woke up with searing pain blazing in his scar, so much that he almost cried out. This was coupled with a strong emotional flash: rage.

'Not normal,' Harry thought to himself, throwing a tee shirt on, and gesturing at the lamp. A flame bloomed from its wick, bathing the room in dim light. Now able to see a little better, he produced his mobile. Healer Ferris probably wouldn't like getting a call at this hour, but... whatever was going on, it wasn't normal.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry, Justin, and two S.O.U. members were heading to the front doors of the castle to meet with Healer Ferris. Harry winced again, as another surge of pain flared in his scar.

“Won't one of your potions help?” Tommy asked, concerned.

“No. Tried that already. It's... someone might as well be jabbing me with a white-hot fireplace poker—aaaah!” He actually cradled his head for several moments.

He actually had to stop several times before getting to the front entry. There, however, he was bolstered by who chose to show up: Sirius, along with Alice and Will. It was still an hour before dawn, and so with the time difference, they'd likely only just got off to bed.

“Sorry to disturb your sleep,” Harry apologized.

“No worries, kiddo. What's happening?”

“Pain in my scar, lots of it,” Harry answered, as the enlarged group began to make their way back to Harry's suite.

“Is it worse than last time?” Will questioned.

“Yeah. Loads worse. Feels like my skull is about to explode.”

“Last time?” Sirius was worried.

“Back at the end of Hearthfire. Same thing, but... not like this. And I'm getting an emotional flash... this time it was rage. I felt like I wanted to stab something.”

“Hmmm,” Healer Ferris mused a moment. “Anyone been able to get a good look at your scar, Harry?”

“No, miss.”

“Once we get you freed from the school, it's one of the first things we will be doing.”

“It's where Voldemort cursed him when he was a baby, right?” said Tommy.

“It's suspected as much, yes,” said Alice, “Though considering Harry was the only one there, and considering he was far too young to have any firm memory of the event, we'll never know for sure. Have to agree with Healer Ferris, it's time we take a closer look, since I think we all agree, this is most definitely not normal.”

“Harry, as much as you might not like the idea, the Order should be aware of this,” said Sirius.

“It'll mean Dumbledore will know as well.”

“Why should an unsanctioned group be aware of a personal problem, Mr. Black?” Healer Ferris questioned sharply, as they climbed a set of stairs.

“Because if it is somehow an indication of Voldemort's movements, they do need to be aware. The Order of the Phoenix is actively opposing Voldemort and his followers, this much all of you have to agree on.”

“Fair enough.”

Healer Ferris spent nearly an hour casting a number of diagnostic and detection charms around Harry's scar, some of which producing painful results. Harry endured, but he was certainly not happy about it. The sun was just starting to breech the horizon when she at last finished.

“Nothing I can really detect for certain here. Medical facilities on board the Ragnar might have better luck, and if not, we can see what _Glossman Medical Centre_ back in Trevelyan has to say. Some of the best healers and doctors in the world are working there.”

“Worst case, we can call in people from the Arcane Sciences division,” said Will, “Their areas of study border on terrifying, so if anyone should know, it'll be them.”

Justin furrowed his brow. “Then why not skip the appetizers, and move straight to the main course? I think Harry would like this problem cleared up now rather than later.”

“I'll speak to a few colleagues.”

Harry was rather quiet as he ate breakfast that morning. It had been a stressful morning, and he'd already missed his morning exercise as a result. He somewhat debated on having breakfast in the suite rather than facing the school, but something inside pushed him onward.

“You're being rather quiet this morning, Harry,” Ginny noticed.

“Dealing with a personal matter,” Harry answered, “It's not been a good morning so far. I'm not gonna be the best company today.”

“You're not coming up to the common room after dinner then,” Ron guessed.

“No. My study schedule is the only thing I'll be doing, and getting some rest.”

“Something hurt you,” Hermione guessed.

“Yes, just not in the way you might think. No, it wasn't during training,” he answered, seeing the question already forming.

“Though it wouldn't be the first time he's been hurt,” said Tommy, “Shit went down this morning, 'an likely he doesn't wanna say any more.”

“Yeah, about sums it up,” Harry agreed.

“Bogey, three o'clock,” Tommy warned, and sure enough, Harry glanced up just in time to see Dumbledore making his way toward them.

“Harry, if we might have a word once you're finished your breakfast.”

“I'll meet with you in the anteroom. Brandon and Eric here can put up appropriate wards. I also insist Professor McGonagall join us.”

“Harry, there are things she isn't privy to—”

“I guess she'll be privy to them when we meet then... or we don't meet at all, professor,” said Brandon, with finality, “The writ of no contact did not expire at the end of last year. If anything, the exceptions were the only part of that which did. So, either bring your colleague, or say what you need to say here and now.”

Dumbledore gave Harry another sad look, and retreated back toward the head table. Once again, the Commonwealth was playing things very carefully, not giving him an inch to play with. He might have Harry trapped in the school, but the Commonwealth still had a handle on things. How far could he truly push things before they reacted? He knew he was walking a very thin line at this point. He mentally sighed. He'd discovered the listening device, and had shuddered, wondering how long it had been there without his knowledge. He'd left it alone, after modifying it so nothing really useful would be gained of it.

Once Harry finished his breakfast, he stood up, and the rest of his entourage followed suit, as they stepped up to the dais and the head table. Professor Dumbledore was then joined by his deputy as they all stepped into the anteroom. Once Brandon and Eric had erected privacy wards, the headmaster got straight to the point.

“Alastor has informed me you've been getting most unsettling pain from the scar on your forehead.”

“The end of September was the first time. This morning it was somewhat worse. It came with a strong emotional burst—rage and anger.”

“Emotions that were not yours?” McGonagall clarified, to which Harry gave a brief nod.

“Harry, this is most alarming,” said Dumbledore, “How much do you know about the events surrounding Tom's attack on your parents fourteen years ago?”

“Enough to know that my parents died, and Voldemort gave me this little memento before he was banished.”

Harry roughly brushed the hair out of his face to reveal the infamous scar.

“Harry, you do, naturally know that is by no means an ordinary scar. It's something that was created by dark magic... magic of the worst sort.”

“We sort of know that already, Professor,” Justin muttered.

“Given exactly what Tom tried to do to young Harry, it is a strong possibility they now share a connection.”

“You're kidding me.” Harry found himself wanting to bang his head against a wall. “So this sort of thing may only get worse.”

“Without learning how to protect your mind from outside intrusion, then very likely, yes. Worse still, Tom may become aware of his connection to you, and in turn, use that connection to cause you harm, and harm to others.”

“You're talking about something similar to Legilimency,” said Brandon, a dark look crossing his face.

“You understand the danger then. Even the Commonwealth could be threatened should Tom Riddle begin to use this connection.”

“Then he needs to learn how to protect his mind,” said Tommy.

“Exactly, Mr. Conlon. It so happens, Professor Snape is a more than skilled in Occlumency, the reciprocal skill. I've not had the chance to speak to him, but--”

“No.”

“Harry, you have to understand—”

“I'm sure Professor Snape is more than skilled. Problem is, he and I don't exactly see eye-to-eye. To be alone with him in any capacity whatsoever? I'll pass.”

“The Commonwealth will be able to provide a suitable instructor, headmaster,” said Brandon, “Likely sooner rather than later.”

“If that's all, professor, I do have an English lesson to prepare for.”

“We are finished,” Dumbledore answered, giving the young wizard an incline of the head. He left the room, dispelling the wards.

* * *

The Occlumency instructor turned out to be none other than Healer Ferris. The lessons moved along pretty quickly as she discovered Harry was already well-versed in the basics. Getting to a calm state was an important first step, and he had that well in hand, with the training he was getting from Tommy. Healer Ferris was more than pleased, as that meant they could get into the meat of the subject: building up proper defences.

* * *

On November 5, Harry spent the night in Gryffindor tower for the first time since third year. Brandon and Eric initially objected to such an idea, but with Mazhe volunteering to stick around, they called for two replacements from the Ragnar as extra backup. No matter what sort of spur-of-the-moment plan Harry came up with, the security surrounding him simply adapted, rather than flat-out deny his request. This was another part of the directive from the queen: only in the most extreme circumstances were they to interfere with what the boy might want to do. Spending time with his school friends was definitely not an immediate and urgent threat to his being, so they adapted accordingly.

As a result, no one in the fifth-year boys' dormitory really got any sleep that night. For the first time in well over a year, Harry felt more his age, surrounded by peers and friends.

“So Harry... you plan on making this a more permanent arrangement?” Dean asked, while Harry slipped his boots on. It was well past breakfast before any of them had stirred.

“If you guys don't mind being kept up at all hours. Good thing it's a Sunday. Don't think any of you would be fit to attend any sort of classes today.”

“Oh, you're one to talk, Potter,” Seamus smirked.

“No kidding. Missed the morning exercises. But Gods, think I'm entitled to a day off now and then.”

“Missing a few days now and then ain't gonna kill us, Harry,” said Mazhe, as he belted up the bandolier which slung over his left shoulder.

“Still, Brandon and Tommy are gonna ride our arses even harder tomorrow.”

“Been meaning to ask, Harry, what's with the... uh, armour anyway?” Neville asked.

“I've been inducted into a, well, special organization back in Skyrim,” Harry hedged.

That got a smirk out of Mazhe. “Right. We've been trying to recruit him for a couple of years now. He completed the... uh, entry exam not too long ago.”

“Even while he's here?” asked Dean.

“Sure, why not. Though there's likely to be a few assignments for him while he's here, too.” This time the glint in Mazhe's eye was more than apparent.

“Hold on. Two of your tutors are in the same organization. I remember seeing them walking up to the school with...”

“Some of us,” said the S.O.U. soldier at the door. The other stood watch just inside the portrait hole.

“Exactly.”

“They've been teaching me marksmanship and stealth,” Harry explained, “Have been since last fall. If not for certain people, I'd introduce them to you. As it stands, I'm trying to keep contact limited, lest people get any ideas they can be used to get to me.”

“It's a real crime our world keeps treating you so poorly, Harry,” said Neville, shaking his head, “We're lucky you're still willing to fight for us.”

“It's because of only a few of you, but yeah. And remember, it's not just England I have to think about. A lot of people within the Commonwealth have helped me up to now. They're willing to back me and fight alongside me... they're the ones I fight for.”

“So Harry... up to a game of chess before lunch?”

“Sure.”

And so it was, Sunday was a total loss, as Harry spent the day with his school friends. They spent the remainder of the morning in the dormitory, and then headed down to the Great Hall for lunch. It was there he was joined by the remainder of his circle, and though a few pointed questions were asked, no one thought badly of him for his choice.

Over the next couple of weeks, Harry spent more and more time up in Gryffindor tower, enjoying the comfort he was feeling from being with his friends and peers. There were always at least two S.O.U. members present, and at least one of Harry's circle, but by the third week of November, he'd pretty much moved up to the tower. His former classmates had no complaints about it, and neither did any of the professors, so what was the harm.

His circle and the S.O.U., of course, had loads to say about it—not that they expressed any concerns to Harry directly. There was outside interference at work here, but up to this point, they were somewhat divided on where the line should be drawn, and more importantly, what to do if something truly threatening did arise. For now, they just stood back and supported their friend the best they could.

* * *

_21 November, 2005 / 21 Sun's Dusk, 4E200_

“Harry... wake up!” Harry felt Mazhe jostling him roughly.

“Wha? What's wrong?”

“Strange magic... I dunno what it is... feels like something's tugging at my naval, like a Port key.”

“Gods... Dobby!” Harry nearly shouted.

Pop. The excitable elf appeared at Harry's bedside. “What can Dobby do for Harry Potter sir?”

“Take Mazhe and I back to our rooms right away.”

“Take my hands,” Dobby offered. Mazhe and Harry took the elf's hands, and they popped away.

They landed instantly in the common area of the suite of rooms. Brandon and Eric both had their wands drawn, pouring power into the wards added to the rooms, and it looked like something was trying to eat through them.

“What in Oblivion's going on?” Harry demanded.

“Read,” Brandon snapped, jabbing a finger toward another notice tacked up on the bulletin board.

“Dobby, go back to Gryffindor tower, let Ron and Hermione know what's going on so they don't get out of sorts finding me gone.”

“Right away, Harry Potter sir.” Dobby popped away.

Harry, meanwhile, approached the notice board to read what seemed like the source of the problem.

 

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_Effective henceforth, any individual wishing to visit the school must seek authorization from the Hogwarts High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge), or the headmaster beforehand._

_Any individual in the school without authorization will be ejected from the grounds without warning._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

_Signed: Delores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

 

“Great. That's just great,” Harry muttered, throwing a hand at the door leading out into the corridor. A yellow arc of magic impacted with it, shimmered a moment, then rolled across the walls and ceiling.

“What was that?” Eric wondered.

“Did it help?”

“Uh, yeah.” Brandon looked impressed. “Still doesn't explain what you did.”

“I lent a bit of my magic to whatever you were doing—think of it as an amplification. We use it back at the College. Someone's doing something and they don't quite have the power to do it themselves, we can give them a magical boost.”

“Whatever's going on, the school wards are fighting against the wards we've erected in the room.”

“The wards are trying to eject you guys. How long can we keep the ward in place?”

“With you helping us? We'll have to reinforce the ward again tonight.”

“Mazhe... mind joining me? We can triple the power of the ward.”

“Harry, it's time we get you the fuck out of here.” Tommy once again framed the door to the dining room.

“Agreement there,” said Brandon, “Now that my hands are completely free...” he pulled out his mobile. “Sorry, Harry. This is now a government matter.”

“Really didn't want to cause trouble--”

“Harry, don't worry about it,” said Eric, “It's not your fault. Let us handle things now.”

“Got a question, Harry,” said Tommy, as he crossed the room. “You've been pulled away from the dormitory. What's your feeling right now?”

“That... that I need to get back there as soon as possible.”

“Whatever charm they've put on you it's reinforcing those feelings,” said Eric, “We've all been asking a similar question. You've virtually moved back to Gryffindor tower... you've been putting all of us at arms' reach...”

“Missing morning training at least once a week,” said Tommy, “They're trying to pull you away from us.”

“Gods... I didn't realize...”

“But you know now, right? Guess the question now... what's the Commonwealth gonna do? What's going on?”

“They're trying to eject us and force us to leave Harry behind unprotected. Read.” Mazhe pointed to the offensive notice.

Brandon hung up his phone and smirked. “Dumbledore is about to get a very unpleasant visitor. Breakfast should be a rather interesting affair.”

* * *

_Queen's Royal Bedchamber, Trevelyan, 12:48 am MST (GMT - 7)_

“It has gotten to this point? Why was I not told?” Queen Susan questioned, angrily, tearing the offensive paper into several pieces. She'd just turned in for the night, and so was most displeased to be disturbed with news of urgent nature.

“Begging your forgiveness, your majesty. It was believed the Department of Information had things in hand,” the gangly aide apologized.

“Wake my ceremonial guard and inform the Ragnar we will be arriving by floo powder in twenty minutes.”

“As you wish, your majesty.” With a slight bow, the aide bustled from the room to carry out her bidding.

“Chorley?” the Queen called out.

_Pop_. “Yes your majesty?” The elf questioned. He was dressed much like one of her ceremonial guard was, although the armour was made much smaller to fit the much smaller being.

“I need a pepper up potion and my battle dress brought up.”

“You are going into battle, your majesty?”

“I dearly hope not. It's meant more for show, but it is only prudent we go prepared. It seems a certain old headmaster has decided not to take _Us_ seriously. The time has come to put him in his place, once and for all.”

“I will be back momentarily.” Chorley gave a little bob of the head and popped away.

The Queen, meanwhile, mentally reviewed what she'd just read. A power-hungry bureaucrat had just tried to evict security she put in place to protect her ward. On top of her ward being virtually held prisoner at the school? No, things had gone on long enough. All evidence pointed back to the headmaster, and he would be made to see reason... or else.

* * *

_8:11a Local Time_

“All right. Ragnar says we're clear to step out into the castle proper,” said Brandon, “Mazhe... you have your staff with you?”

“In Harry's chest.”

“D'you mind fetching it?”

“Show of force then,” Justin guessed.

“Her majesty's on the Ragnar now, and she's calling on the school in about fifteen minutes. We're going to meet her and join her as she enters the Great Hall.”

“Great. I'll feel even more like a circus animal,” Harry muttered.

“Which will in the end get you freed from this place for good. Her Majesty won't leave today without an ironclad guarantee of exactly that,” said Brandon, “Holy shit is she pissed!”

“Bit risky her coming here though, isn't it?” Mazhe wondered, as he looked in the outer compartment of Harry's trunk.

“Her ceremonial guard are made up of other people from our outfit. A contingent of Marines will also be deployed, so she'll be more than covered,” Eric explained, “And really, you haven't seen Queen Susan in action. She's no China doll, I can tell you that much.”

“Been meanin' to ask, is she magical?” Tommy questioned.

“Oh yeah. She's a more than capable witch. First magical monarch in a century.” Brandon looked at his watch. “Come on guys, get a move on.”

The timing was impeccable. As Harry and his entourage came to the bottom of the stairs, they were met by the Queen and her entourage, who had just come through the front doors.

“Your majesty,” Harry greeted, with a bow of the head.

“Harry. Good to see you again, although I wish it were under better circumstances.”

She glanced up at Brandon and the others.

“Glad to see you have all prepared in some way. Shall we?”

At Harry's nod of agreement, they formed up into a procession, with Harry and his group following the Queen, the Ceremonial guard in the lead. They were dressed in deep crimson uniforms with gold trim. Harry now knew each of them were members of the S.O.U., and the uniform here was only for show. They were every bit as dangerous as Brandon and Eric, who were dressed in their usual black uniforms.

At Queen Susan's nod, two marines pushed the great doors open, and ten more spilled through the opening to take up position inside.

“All hail Susan the Second, the Queen of Valicadia!” cried one of the soldiers.

This brought silence to the room, and the rest stepped through. It was certainly a spectacle, as the large party practically marched up the centre of the room, to come to a stop at the dais. Dumbledore at this point had moved to stand behind the lectern, and although his face did not show it, Harry knew the old man was actually shocked. Or, perhaps disbelief might be a better word.

Harry had the old man pegged quite well. Oh, sure, he'd received the very angry announcement of the impending arrival only minutes before, and simply couldn't believe the ruling monarch would actually dare intrude on the school. Yet, here she was, along with a very formidable fighting force. And... what in Merlin's name was the boy named Mazhe carrying? Even from where he stood, the headmaster could feel the power radiating from the staff secured to the young wizard's back.

“You have once again earned Our displeasure, Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore.”

The headmaster was snapped back to reality, realizing the Queen was addressing him.

“Queen Susan. If we might convene in the anteroom, so we don't share this unpleasantness with the rest of the student body,” McGonagall suggested.

“Yes, an appropriate idea,” Dumbledore agreed. “Minerva, won't you join us.”

“It is more practical if you remain here, deputy headmistress,” said the Queen, “Our business is with the headmaster and not with any other member of the school.”

“Watch B, take up positions. Honour guard remains with the sovereign,” ordered one of the men in a ceremonial uniform. That sent the S.O.U. members in black outfits to the perimeter of the room where they took up positions meant to cover the room. Harry realized they were creating a security perimeter, and just a small part of him dared Malfoy to actually try something, knowing the end result would be very ugly.

The group, meanwhile, again retreated to the anteroom, which seemed somewhat larger, emptied of the trophies and cases. The Guild mark still gleamed in the light of the candles, and Harry had to smirk inwardly. No, it would be a long time before that vanished.

Then gathered at the centre of the room, Brandon was whispering something to the Queen. She simply nodded, and then addressed the headmaster, a look of blazing hatred in her eyes.

“Just what in the nine circles of _hell_ do you think you're trying to prove?!”

“I assure you--”

“You assure me of NOTHING, headmaster! You have meddled in and about Our ward's business for the LAST TIME. You have one hour beginning...” she glanced at Brandon, who gave a jerky nod, “... _now_ , to remove whatever abomination you have placed on Our ward, or WE shall order OUR SHIP to reduce this castle to DUST. Is that in any way unclear, Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore?”

The old man's mask actually fell. The shock that raced across his face was there for all to see. That the Commonwealth would actually open fire on a school full of children? It alarmed him greatly.

“I protest! You would attack a school filled with innocent children?”

“Fifty-nine minutes, twenty seconds... nineteen... eighteen... seventeen... Ragnar copy.”

* * *

_HMS Ragnar_

The conversation going on in the school between their commander in chief and the headmaster was being broadcast through Brandon' radio. Captain O'Toole was already acting on the Queen's orders.

“Action stations.”

“Action stations, aye captain,” said Commander Dawson, picking up a handset nearby. He pressed several buttons, causing a klaxon to begin blaring.

“Action stations, action stations. Set condition red throughout the ship. Action stations, action stations, this is no exercise. Weaps, make ready for a firing solution, main weapon vertical, T-minus fifty-nine even.”

Commander Dawson hung up.

“We aren't really gonna fire on the castle?”

“I sincerely hope not, Ty,” said the captain, shaking his head, “We'll all burn in hell if we do.”

“ _AIC, Weaps. Condition red is set. Setting condition for main weapon vertical, full charge will be obtained in eight minutes, forty-two seconds._ ”

“Weaps, AIC, copy,” Commander Dawson answered.

* * *

_Hogwarts_

The radio chatter had been put on a small speaker attached to Brandon' utility vest, and further alarm was evident in Dumbledore's eyes, as the last comment was heard.

“What's it gonna be, headmaster? Either cooperate, or begin evacuating your school,” said Brandon, simply.

“What, did you think We did not mean it when We said We grow tired of your manipulations, Albus? Trust me when I say, I will follow through. The Ragnar is already taking action as we speak.”

“Do you feel that?” Mazhe asked, “Gods, it feels like the air's full of electricity.”

“Yeah, I feel it too,” said Tommy, “Like a thunderstorm's coming.”

“Tell me, headmaster, you must feel it as well. Gods, all we want is for you to do the right thing. Let me go,” said Harry, “No one needs to get hurt here. Or are you that stubborn, that blind, that you put everyone here at risk?”

“ _Full charge of main capacitors in seven minutes, ten seconds_ ,” came a voice over the small speaker.

“I have to ask, what will the people of Valicadia think, when they learn their Queen directed a war machine to attack a school full of children,” Dumbledore tried.

The Queen actually laughed.

“Nice try, Albus. You should know, I will be addressing the Commonwealth on this matter as soon as the matter here is resolved—or not quite immediately. It will occur today, so that those under my rule understand the reason behind such action.”

“Fifty seven minutes,” said Brandon.

Dumbledore let out a great sigh, then asked Harry to step forward. Reaching into his robes to produce his wand, he was unsurprised to find at least twelve wands pointed in his direction, along with a number of non-magical weapons.

“Doing anything other than remove the offensive item will not fare well, headmaster,” said Mazhe, reaching back and fetching the staff off of his back. Now in his hands, the staff actually hummed with energy, as though interacting with the energy-charged atmosphere.

“Hold out your right arm, Harry.”

Harry did as asked, and Dumbledore simply tapped his wrist with his wand. A thin bracelet appeared, and began to slip off, but Harry snatched it up.

“I'll be keeping this, I think.”

“Here. The Arcane Sciences Division will likely be able to make better sense of it,” said Justin. Harry quickly handed the offensive item over.

“Ragnar, stand down,” said the Queen.

“ _By your command_ ,” came Captain O'Toole's voice.

“Now that that unpleasant business is finished, what do you plan on doing, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“Oh, I don't think our business is quite finished yet, headmaster,” said Brandon, viciously, “Whether through your action or not, twelve of the Commonwealth's soldiers were injured this morning after being ejected from the building.”

“I assure you--”

“Take Dumbledore into custody. Endangering one of Our wards for openers,” said the Queen. Dumbledore found himself at wand point once again, and relieved of his own.

“We'll take him up to the Ragnar,” said one of the soldiers. Dumbledore was then escorted from the anteroom.

“So it's done then? We can get away from this place?” Tommy asked.

“I can't guarantee we won't be drawn back here for some reason, but rest assured, we will do all we can to make sure something like this doesn't repeat itself.”

They were interrupted again, as McGonagall stormed into the room.

“Explain!” she demanded.

“You are in a position to see to the operation of the school?” the Queen asked.

“I have seen to the school on a number of different occasions, but I still must know what is taking place. Why is Albus being escorted out by your military?”

“Professor, he's under arrest. He forced me to be here by putting—” Justin had again produced the offensive bracelet, “--this on me back in September. It's why I couldn't leave the school.”

“Albus, you fool!” McGonagall cursed. She sighed, and pursed her lips, looking furious. “Albus has made things most difficult already. I did warn him against such meddling. I still cannot fathom his foolishness!”

“Nor can I, professor.”

“Potter, I am truly sorry he was able to do this sort of thing to you.”

“Thank you, professor. That truly means a lot, coming from you.”

“Deputy headmistress, if I may address the student body?” the Queen asked. “I think it is time a few ugly truths are brought to light.”

Stepping back out into the Great Hall, the noise level rose again, as students noticed their reappearance. The Queen stepped up to the lectern, and the hall fell silent.

“There are those here in Magical England, who believe that it is better to bury their heads in the sand, and pretend certain events are not actually unfolding. They would rather lead the general public down the garden path, and ignore the glaring signs warning of a far different set of circumstances.

“The Commonwealth is in agreement with at least a dozen members of the International Confederation of Wizards, in the knowledge that the one known as Voldemort once again walks amongst the living. Our ward has presented irrefutable pensieve testimony which has proven this fact. We have also monitored activity amongst witches and wizards known to have followed the one named Voldemort before his disappearance fourteen years ago. All are engaging in suspect behaviour, travelling in their old circles, now strongly suspected of collecting around their old master.

“Other nations are taking action to protect their borders and their citizens against this dark wizard and his followers, and for magical England to ignore the trend and swim against the current, will only lead to a terrible set of circumstances here.

“Witches and wizards, you have a deadly weapon in your grasp, one which could end the fight before it begins. Yet you cower behind a select few, waiting for a select few to do the job that many could do quite easily. The time for inaction has come and gone, much like the time of living in the past, embracing old traditions--”

POP POP POP. A seventh-year Ravenclaw had moved to draw his wand, but instead now lay bleeding on the floor from three bullets lodged in his chest. The Queen let out a sigh, while the soldier responsible for the injuries levitated the gravely injured student from the room.

“His injuries are severe, but they are now the least of his worries,” the Queen continued. “You would attack me because I question your old ways, or is it something else? Come on, speak up!”

“We don't need mudbloods and blood traitors!” shouted a fourth year Slytherin.

“In the Commonwealth, you would find yourself in a holding cell facing two charges. Our Commonwealth embraces all, no matter their blood or their ability,” the Queen answered, “In a progressive society, everyone has a forum in which to voice their concerns, their fears, their grievances. Our government tries to hear all of its citizens, and do the best it can for ALL, not only a select few, such as it seems to be here. All are given a chance to be productive members of society, instead of having to rely on a network of payouts, payoffs, and favours.”

“But the Ministry—” Umbridge had finally heard enough, and decided to wade (or waddle) into the debate.

“Is in the state it's in, because of small-minded individuals such as yourself,” Brandon answered, “The stack of unfair edicts you've passed, all of them to suppress any sort of free thinking here in the school. Instead of a place of learning, it's become a prison. Word is, even the other teachers sitting with you here are terrified of what you might do, should they do something to attract your attention.”

“The Ministry believes the school is in need of changes, to be better brought up to scratch and meet certain government standards,” Umbridge simpered, “Students need to be carefully guided.”

“No, they need to be actually taught something useful, rather than a text book aimed at an unfocused adult,” Harry muttered, “You nearly failed as a student of Dark Arts Defence. Quite honestly, I think you outright _fail_ as a teacher. It's a shame the Commonwealth can't levy any sort of charges against you, you'd be joining the headmaster in a holding cell.”

“I believe we are done here. Do keep in mind what I have said here. Whether you wish to admit it or not, Voldemort has returned, and is a true threat to each and every one of you. I'll leave you with one final thought. What sort of society do you wish to live in? One where all are included, or one controlled by the select few, while the rest of you cower in fear?”

* * *

Mazhe watched as Harry collected the items he'd stored in and about the small private room in their suite. His friend was clearly in a hurry.

“You're still gonna say good bye to everyone, right?”

“Yeah. We'll stop by Gryffindor tower before we actually leave. Surprised McGonagall cancelled classes for the day.”

“Given the events this morning... I think the school's in a bit of shock. Still confused though. How's the Commonwealth able to arrest someone on foreign soil anyway?”

“Got no clue, Mazhe. All I know, I'm glad she did it. Now if they're actually able to lay charges on him and make it stick, it'll be a nice Christmas present. The part that's got my head spinning though, is the Ragnar and whatever weapon she's got. Gods, it was like she was collecting energy from the atmosphere itself.”

“Something we'll have to ask when we get a chance. It was quite something, have to agree that much. A weapon like that... might make the Thalmor think twice.”

That got a nasty smirk from Harry. After what happened at the College, he despised the Thalmor just as much as his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts after being detained by the Commonwealth over the winter holidays; the ICW Education Division takes a very close look at the goings on at Hogwarts; Ron discovers something rather unsettling during a visit to the Room of Requirement that results in Bill visiting for official purposes; an event at the beginning of April is costly for Harry ...and both Harry and Tommy react poorly to information that comes to light about the incident in Atlantic City._
> 
> _Now... it seems the Commonwealth has been able to at least temporarily put the brakes on Dumbledore's manipulations. Whether that's a permanent thing, it still remains to be seen. After all, there is certainly question of whether the Commonwealth had the right to put him under arrest in the first place._   
> _(1) Fredas – Friday in the Gregorian calendar._   
> _(2) Loredas—Saturday in the Gregorian calendar._   
> _(3) Tirdas – Tuesday._   
> _(4) Again, a weapon introduced with the Dawnguard expansion, but it's now considered part of the Elder Scrolls/Skyrim lore._   
> _(5) Taken from p.313, “Order of the Phoenix”, Canadian soft-cover edition._


	20. Amnesty, Death, and Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts after being detained by the Commonwealth over the winter holidays; the ICW Education Division takes a very close look at the goings on at Hogwarts; Ron discovers something rather unsettling during a visit to the Room of Requirement that results in Bill visiting for official purposes; an event at the beginning of April is costly for Harry ...and both Harry and Tommy react poorly to information that comes to light about the incident in Atlantic City.

**21: AMNESTY, DEATH, AND DISCLOSURE**

**November 21, 2005 – June 26, 2006**

* * *

_HMS Ragnar_

Harry had vanished into the shower for nearly an hour as soon as they had returned to the guest suite on board. It was as though he were trying to wash away the unclean feeling from being trapped as he'd been. An enchanted bracelet. That's how the fool had bound him as he did! Well. There would be no repeat performance, not if a certain Weasley had anything to say about it. Alice was likely in a floo call with the redhead at that very moment.

“Feel better?” Justin asked, as Harry stepped into the conference room.

“Not really. He stripped away part of my free will... I'll never be okay with that,” Harry answered, taking a seat at the table.

“What's done is done, but if the Commonwealth has anything to say about it, Dumbledore will be facing our justice system,” said Will, “Her majesty is done with his meddling.”

“Still wondering though, how is it the Commonwealth can arrest and charge someone on foreign soil?” Mazhe asked.

“Legally, we can't. However, the Queen is making this a matter of international security. We'll be appealing to the sense of the ICW, and given they've already kicked him out of that body, it shouldn't be much of a stretch to convince them we should be the ones to prosecute him. It's one of our citizens he's directly targeted, and over a number of years on top of that.”

“The Queen herself will be addressing the international body this time,” said Alice.

“How far will she go?” Tommy asked, before taking a long swig from a bottle of beer. There was an ice bucket at the centre of the table with numerous beverages, knowing the various individuals Harry kept company with. Bottles of butterbeer, regular beer, soda pop, and mead were typical choices.

“War,” said Brandon, bluntly. “The Queen's likely meeting with the Prime Minister and her cabinet as we speak, if not a little later than now. She'll make sure the government is fully apprised of what went down this morning, and knowing her position on matters, she'll very likely convince the P.M. She needs to act on matters.”

“How quickly would that happen?” Harry wondered.

“Not overnight, that's for sure,” said Justin, shaking his head, “Going to war with England... the government would have to weigh the risks, shit like that. We risk bringing other member countries of the ICW into the fight, and so on.”

There came a WHOOSH from the other room, and seconds later, Bill Weasley stepped into the room.

“Bill. Good to see you again,” Harry greeted.

“I was informed you've had a bit of difficulty recently.”

Harry was confused. “You're just hearing of this now?”

“The Order's been busy, Harry. Surely you know that,” said Bill, taking a seat at the table. He snatched a bottle of butterbeer from the bucket.

“We've been trying to contact him since this mess began. Seems Dumbledore was aware of him helping us out before,” said Will. “I hope your helping us hasn't gotten you in trouble.”

“No. Gringotts is only concerned about me getting paid for my services. So what's happened?”

“Dumbledore put this...” Justin again produced the charmed bracelet, “...on Harry back in September. It prevented him from leaving the Hogwarts grounds, for starters.”

“I think it also had a bunch of loyalty and compulsion charms on it. I started pushing these guys away, wanting to stay back in the dormitory,” Harry added.

“Let me see it,” said Bill.

Justin pushed the bracelet across the table, and Bill drew his wand, casting a number of charms on the item, humming several times.

“Merlin's beard...”

“What?”

“The man may as well have cast the Imperius curse on you, Harry,” said Bill, shaking his head. “I have to be honest. I don't know if there's a lot I can do to prevent something like this from repeating.”

“I'm willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Then let's get started...”

* * *

The holidays saw Harry and his circle once again attend the annual holiday event at the Fox Theatre, with an orchestra providing the music as had been the case two years prior. This time, a few other tunes were thrown into the mix, all of them from popular motion pictures.

Christmas Day, Harry found himself once again attending the Queen's Christmas banquet at her palace in Trevelyan. With all of the stress of the past year, and the terrible loss of the summer, it was nice to return to some state of normalcy. The banquet felt a little less relaxed than it had the year previous, however. There was more security present, and no matter who he talked to, the conversation always gravitated back to the threat of Voldemort.

* * *

_January 2, 2006 / 2 Sun's Dawn, 4E201_

Much to Harry's frustration, and that of the Commonwealth, Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts, and resumed the post as Headmaster. Valicadia was unable to convince the international body of their justification in arresting the old wizard, and so therefore were forced to release him.

Of course, his stay in a holding cell for well over a month was most certainly no holiday. There was no preferential treatment, and he was watched around the clock, considering his substantial knowledge and power. He was on his best behaviour, however, treating his jailors with respect. Once back at the school, it was, for the most part, a return to the status quo.

Dumbledore was most certainly frustrated at the latest play by the Commonwealth, although if he honestly admitted it to himself, it was well-played. That, however, would never happen. Not to mention the fact that a foreign magical nation outside of the ICW had threatened one of its most important members! The Wizengamot was already in an uproar about it, and perhaps with a little luck, there would be some sort of response from the international community.

* * *

_January 8, 2006_

There was most certainly a reaction from the ICW on matters, just not what the headmaster wanted. That morning, he found a single envelope waiting for him on his desk, bearing the seal of the International Confederation of Wizards. Opening it, he was alarmed by its contents:

 

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry_

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_Under usual circumstances, it is up to individual member nations and their schools, to maintain certain standards with regard to the quality of education being provided their students, and equally, the safety and comfort of those students studying within their walls._

_However, in response to a number of incidents which have occurred in and about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, along with several petitions to the international body, it is felt that a closer look must be taken, to determine exactly what state the school is in, and whether improvements are required._

_Therefore, by order of the international body's Education Division, your school shall be receiving an international panel of inspectors and educators chosen from the international body beginning on January 30. It must be made very clear, their presence within your school is not optional, as there are grave concerns within the ICW pertaining to the operation of your school. It should equally be stressed, their objectives, although similar to that of the individual planted at your school by your Ministry, will be nowhere near as invasive or disruptive._

_The panel will review the activities of your teaching staff, and evaluate daily school activities for the remainder of the school year, after which their findings will be presented to the international body. A more complete description of their assigned tasks will be explained when the panel first arrives at your school._

_It is with regret that the Education Division is forced to react in such a manner, as the ICW does wish for its member nations to retain autonomy with regard to how they manage their affairs._

_Yours,_

_K. Truls_

_Secretary of Education,_

_International Confederation of Wizards_

 

Dumbledore removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. First Umbridge, and now this. The letter spoke with finality, a tone he'd certainly used in similar letters on a regular basis. Of course, he had a very good idea of where the pressure had came from. The Commonwealth had certainly made a lot of noise about the 'dirty trick' he had used on Harry, among other things. Queen Susan was a thorough woman, he had to admit; she worked like an attack dog when it came to the issues. It had already cost him a number of supporters, people he'd been able to count on in the past.

An international panel though? Merlin... he'd need to have a serious meeting with his staff. If the panel witnessed how Severus treated students in class? That was a train wreck, never mind the dreadful instrument Delores was using in her detentions. Oh yes, he was fully aware of the Blood Quill, thanks to the school's formidable wards. Not many nights went by that the wards didn't warn him of a student in a lot of pain—specifically during the time she usually held detention. He decided not to directly warn the woman. Perhaps, if anything, something good might come out of the inspections. There was a bright side in just about everything, was there not?

* * *

_February 2, 2006_

Although Harry was no longer at Hogwarts in any way, shape, or form, the HMS Ragnar had remained at the school, although she moved position to hover over the Black Lake, as she had for much of the Triwizard tournament. These days, the boy was rarely around, spending most of his time back in Riften, or more specifically the Ragged Flagon and its inner Cistern.

Most of the tasks the Guild had assigned thus far had been retrievals, recovering items on behalf of individuals (all for a fee, of course). It most certainly brought the Guild profits, and so Mercer had gained passing respect for the boy. There had been a lengthy conversation between him, Brynjolf, and Harry as soon as he'd been able to get back to Riften, just to be sure he was aware of the ground rules, but other than that, there was little contact. Mercer tended not to wander too much, keeping to the large desk and work area near the back of the headquarters. Tommy had wondered aloud one day as to whether or not the guy was 'getting enough', given his rather sour disposition.

With a closer connection to the Guild, it became a common thing for Brynjolf to join the group on board the Ragnar. He was becoming another ally, although that was true for most of the Guild at this point.

To the present, it was this expanded group who were enjoying dinner in Harry's suite aboard the Ragnar. It had been a rather productive afternoon, with Harry collecting a stolen item from a bandit camp northwest of Whiterun. It had been a simple matter of Apparating to Whiterun, then flying the rest of the way on his Firebolt, under the cover of a disillusionment charm. The bandits hadn't even known he was there, and he easily recovered the jewelled chalice from a heavy trunk. He also collected a few other rather valuable items, which he turned over to Tonilia back at the Flagon. His coin purse had became just a little heavier when business was concluded.

“Harry, you do remember Falion?” Mazhe inquired.

“Sure. How could I not?” Harry answered, looking up from his plate.

“He's a master trainer in Conjuration, and he's offering to train us.”

Harry smirked madly. “Dumbledore almost fainted when I told him about that branch of magic, back at the end of first year.”

“Harry...” Justin cautioned.

“What? The Ministry will likely hate it, but really... where have I grown up? I'll use every tool I can get my hands on. If Falion's willing to teach us, then sure, I'm in.”

Justin let out a sigh. It had been the risk they'd taken, sending him to Tamriel. The boy had grown up strong, with a mind for making his own decisions. However, it also taught him rules and ways of _that_ world, rather than that of the Commonwealth. Justin had a strong idea on exactly what kinds of Conjuration Harry would end up studying, and none of it would garner approval from any magical government.

“Conjuration... what can you do with it?” Tommy asked.

“Loads of things,” Mazhe answered, “Simplest forms are wolves, familiars. They only last a few minutes, but good for defending against simple threats.

“Opposite end of the spectrum, I've heard of a particular spell that can raise a dead body indefinitely—until it's destroyed.”

“Humph... the government won't like that one at all,” said Justin, shaking his head, “Jesus Christ.”

Harry smirked. “Well... we've got... what are they, uh, Inferi, don't we?”

“That's the point, Harry. It's dark magic.”

“Even if it's used to bring down the enemy? Whatever it takes to get the job done. And it's not like I would be doing it just for kicks. Something tells me that sort of magic isn't something easy to cast.”

“Falion will probably know, but you're right. I did say opposite end of the spectrum, Harry.”

“So those... fire things--” Tommy began.

“Flame Atronachs. Yeah, they're a form of Conjuration. A more advanced branch, just as are Frost or Storm Atronachs,” Mazhe answered, “Remember the fight in Labyrinthian.”

Brynjolf had been quiet up to this point, nursing a bottle of mead and listening to the conversation around the table. Being a Nord, he had no use for magic, having always fell back on the skills he knew and used. However, he also did not berate Mazhe and his friend for them using it. To each their own, he believed, as long as the job got done and profit was earned in the end.

Harry's invisibility cloak had blown him away first time he'd seen it used. He'd seen nothing like it before, and quite likely, he'd not see anything like it again, given where Harry was from. Now if only he could convince the dark-haired wizard to engage in Guild activities a little more freely.

“This means you will be taking on another trainer then,” he finally spoke.

“I have to,” Harry answered, “It's a branch of magic I've wanted to learn ever since I first saw it used when I was seven years old. Savos absolutely forbid it until I was old enough. I'm gonna be sixteen in July— _Sun's Height_ , I mean. I'm old enough now, and a mage in Morthal might be willing to teach us.”

“Just as long as you can keep bringing us in coin, lad.”

“I'm up to the challenge,” Harry smirked.

“And about that. Delvin's wanting to see the both of you tomorrow. He's got a job in mind that requires both of your skills.”

“What sort of job, Bryn?” Mazhe questioned.

“I'm not certain. But it does involve a very important client in Whiterun. The few details Delvin's shared, it's a two-part job, a special job request.”

“What's so special?” Harry wondered, “Err... I mean, I know Mazhe's quite busy as of late, but...”

“Harry, you know we're in a bad way, lad. It's been years since we've gotten anything like that.”

“Harry, this is good,” Mazhe answered, “The Guild's shaking the dust off again. Word's getting around in Whiterun.”

“Then count me in.”

It was then there came a WHOOSH from the other room, and a scant few moments later, Ron and Hermione entered.

“Oh. Hi guys!” Harry grinned, standing.

“Hey mate. You won't believe the news,” said Ron, excited, “Umbridge's been sacked and arrested!”

“For real?”

“Aurors just escorted her out of the school during dinner. Americans, I think,” said Hermione.

“That's excellent news, guys. Err... come join us. We were just finishing dinner.”

“We already ate, Harry,” said Hermione, but she took up a vacant seat at the table.

“Then have some tea—or a butterbeer,” said Justin, gesturing to the centre of the table and the indicated items.

“So the investigation... how's it going?” Harry wondered aloud.

“They might as well not be there. We see them at meals, and in the corridors, but never in the classroom. They're supposed to be inspecting the classes, it's what they announced when they first arrived on the 30th,” said Hermione, doubtful.

“They could be hiding under disillusionment charms,” said Justin, “Makes more sense that they would just want to observe things rather than actually interfere—unless there was a dire need for it. Considering what you've told us about Madam Umbridge and her boorish behaviour.”

“I wouldn't count on too much information while the review is ongoing,” said Brandon, “They'll likely speak to the teachers outside of class time, and it'll only be once the review is concluded that they release their findings. I'm sure the end result will be a lot of wholesale changes at the school, none of which Dumbledore will like.”

“If he survives the review,” Harry muttered, “The man's probably in a right twist about the investigation, given he's got no input or control over them.”

“He won't be interfering. The ICW's watching the school very closely right now during the investigation. The panel itself is made up of a bunch of educators from all over the world, including the Commonwealth.”

“Gods. If they can actually clean up the school, I might consider returning come sixth year. Well... unless Dumbledore's still there, though by the sounds of it likely not.”

“If the panel comes up with a fraction of the issues we've seen or heard of, no, he won't survive the findings. He might have a lot of political pull, but he's still at the whim of the school's board of governors. And if they _don't_ fire him, _they'll_ be relieved. Simple as that,” said Justin.

“How do you know?” Hermione wondered.

“Stuff I'm picking up from my own department and so on. The goings on at Hogwarts is a hot topic right now, for the wrong reasons.”

“But guys, it means things will get better at the school. I mean, with McGonagall as headmistress, she'll put a stop to all the horse shit.”

“The ICW's also looking into the draconian measures Dumbledore's put in place locking you guys into being students at Hogwarts. That shouldn't ever been allowed,” said Justin, shaking his head. “The old man's affairs are being carefully examined. Should be interesting to see exactly what sort of skeletons he's got lurking in his closet.”

“Good. Be interesting to see how he reacts to being the subject of a witch hunt for a change,” Harry muttered.

“Right. Mate, enough of that,” said Ron, “Fred and George were exploring the other night, when they came across a brilliant room full of stuff. Hermione, where's that—”

“This?” Hermione dug into her bag, and pulled out a small case. The second it came into open, Harry could immediately hear what sounded like dozens of voices all speaking at once.

“What is it?” Brandon asked, while Hermione opened the lid. Inside it, was what looked like a silver circlet, with a sapphire stone at its centre. It was ornate, and likely very expensive.

“We don't know. It looked incredibly valuable, so George nicked it and thought of you,” Ron answered. Harry, meanwhile, could feel a headache coming on.

“Close it, please. Whatever's in there... it's bad.”

“Harry?”

“I dunno. It sounds like... hundreds of voices, all speaking to me at once. Put... put it back in your bag... and Ron... get your brother.”

“Bill?”

“Yeah.” Harry held a hand up to his scar and winced, as Hermione quickly stowed the item back in her bag. Whatever magic was on it, it wasn't good.

Brynjolf, meanwhile, was puzzled. He'd certainly seen more than a few cursed objects during his profession, but this... Harry looked like he was about to be ill from just being in the same room with it.

“You look like you're about to be ill, lad.”

“Feel that way.” Harry held out a hand. “ _Accio_ stomach-calming draught.”

The required item smacked into his hand a few moments later, and he rapidly consumed the contents. Ron got up and left to go make a fire call to his brother, while Mazhe seemed to think on the situation a moment.

“Harry, remember the journal we showed Falion?”

“The one Justin recovered from Ginny's cauldron,” Harry remembered. “Balls. A Horcrux.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Mr. Weasley will likely be able to tell us for sure.”

“A Horcrux?” Brynjolf repeated.

“You know about black soul gems?” Mazhe asked. At the Nord's firm nod, he continued, “In this world, there are similar items, soul containers. But here, it's really dark magic.”

“Some of the darkest magic someone can do, since their creation involves murder,” said Justin, “Not many people know of them considering it's the kind of knowledge best kept out of the general public.

“Unfortunately, there are some who have created them, including the one Harry must eventually face.”

“And what is the purpose of a Horcrux?”

“It allows the owner to defeat death, Bryn. It's terrible, and unnatural,” Mazhe answered, “Personally, if I wanted to live forever, I'd just contract _Sanguinare Vampiris_.”

“The Guild would certainly never have an issue with it, lad, but your present company might have a different opinion.”

Mazhe grinned madly, then laughed. “I'm not serious!”

The fireplace in the other room fired again, and moments later, Ron re-entered the room with his eldest brother in tow.

“Harry. I hear you've stumbled on something,” said Bill.

“It was Fred and George who found it. Some room called the Room of Requirement,” Hermione explained, once again retrieving the offensive item from her bag.

Bill collected the box, then drew his wand, gesturing at it for several moments, humming on a few occasions.

“Gods. This was at Hogwarts?”

“Until this afternoon, yeah,” Ron answered.

“And?” Harry prompted.

“It's definitely a Horcrux.”

“Mazhe... got a black soul gem handy?”

“No. It's been a while since I've had one.”

“Balls. Looks like we'll be seeing our friend Falion a little sooner, then. Farengar doesn't deal with those.”

Harry dug in his own satchel and pulled out a bag full of coins. Verifying that it was Galleons rather than Septims, he tossed the bag over to Bill.

“Thanks for the house call.”

“Harry, you don't have to.”

“Your time is valuable. I won't take advantage of people because of who I am.”

“All right, all right,” said Bill, holding his hands up in surrender. He snatched up the bag. “Though really, this is no bother. Don't hesitate to call on me.”

“I know.”

Bill conjured up a strong case, and cast a number of isolation wards on it, then placed the offensive item into it. As soon as that was done, Harry could no longer hear the voices from within.

“It was that bad?” Bill asked.

“Like hearing dozens of voices all at once in my head. Unsettling to start, and the first time it actually gave me a headache.”

“We'll deal with it once we see what Delvin wants,” said Mazhe.

That nasty piece of business taken care of, the conversation wandered back into safer territory, with Ron and Hermione filling Harry in on the recent events at the school. Most of it was surrounding the speculation about the international review of the school.

Harry was glad of the review. It meant that perhaps, some real change would happen at the school, making it a better place—a safer place for his friends. He'd done more than enough research into the international standards, and had been angered at what he'd found. Hogwarts was woefully inadequate by international standards, apparently simply to appease the few with political pull, the few who wanted to control the many.

“Ron, we have to get back to the school, it's nearly curfew,” said Hermione, noting the clock at the opposite end of the room.

“I'll take you guys back to the school,” Bill offered, “Then I can just borrow a fireplace to get home from there.”

“I'd best be getting back as well,” said Brynjolf.

“We do have extra room if you'd like to stay the night. These guys have classes in the morning,” said Mazhe, catching Harry's eye. His friend gave a positive nod.

“We've got to be back in Riften early anyway,” Harry agreed, standing. “Good to see you guys again. Why don't you come back tomorrow and we'll have dinner. See if the twins want to come.”

“That would be wicked.”

“Ron, we've already got a stack of homework!”

“So do I, Hermione, doesn't mean it has to be done this minute,” Harry pointed out. He could tell his words had the desired effect.

“We'll have someone come down and meet you after your last class,” Brandon offered, “Rather than you all having to borrow a professor's fire.”

“Thanks, Mr. McAllister.”

* * *

The following afternoon saw Harry and Mazhe travel to Whiterun, instead of the afternoon training session. Rather than their Guild armour, they both wore fine clothes, suitable for meeting an upper member of society. Careful inquiries directed them to the Drunken Huntsman, one of two pubs within the city proper, and there, they found the elderly Nord seated at a corner table, nursing a bottle of mead.

“Olfrid Battle-born? Delvin Mallory sent us,” said Mazhe, taking a seat opposite the man. Harry chose to simply stay off to the side, and for the moment, let Mazhe do the talking.

“So he did, so he did! You've arrived not a moment too soon! If something happens to Arn, there'll be hell to pay!”

“Slow down, sir. Who's Arn?”

“A dear friend of mine! We fought on the battlefields until age got the better of us. Now it's up to me to save him one more time, this time from the executioner's block in Solitude.”

“Solitude? Then what are we doing here in Whiterun?” Harry dared ask. At Olfrid's pointed glare, Mazhe said, “We're both here to help.”

“I see.” Olfrid seemed to apprise Harry a moment, then turned his attention back to Mazhe. “The city guard in Solitude are seeking Arn for a serious crime. He's fled here to Whiterun, only to be arrested for drunken behaviour! Can you imagine?! Fortunately, his name is still unknown to the authorities here in Whiterun, so there's still a chance to save him.”

“You want us to break him out of jail?” Harry was doubtful.

“No. I'm setting him up with a new identity,” Olfrid answered, seriously. “It's the only way to throw the guard permanently off his trail.”

“Then what do you need us to do?”

“The job is two-fold. First, you are to steal a letter sent from Solitude which warns of Arn's crimes there. Second, you are to change Arn's name in the prison registry to his new identity.”

“Where are these items located?” Harry asked.

“Both of these items are in Dragonsreach,” Olfrid cautioned, “Any official correspondence is usually sent to the Jarl's Chambers, while the prison registry is in the steward's quarters. Both of these areas are off limits to the public.”

“Of course. Harry? You with me on this?”

“Yeah. Give us a half-hour,” said Harry.

“One more thing. If either of you get caught...”

“We don't get caught, sir. And this conversation never happened,” said Mazhe, with a smirk. That got an equal smirk from the old man.(1)

Outside the Drunken Huntsman, Mazhe pulled Harry into a corner out of sight. “Which do you want to do?”

“You're better at writing than I am. But stealing...”

“Don't steal it. Turn it into something else,” Mazhe suggested.

“You know permanent transfiguration is very difficult.”

“Turn it into a pile of ash then. Though in that case, Olfrid's probably wanting to see the letter as proof.”

“I can make a copy of it, but... yeah, burning it is a good thought. Ready?”

“Let's go then.”

Harry gripped his friend about the shoulder, gave a slight twist, and the pair vanished with a noisy crack.

They appeared in a spot inside the castle not frequented by people, and the pair quite literally vanished, for different reasons. Mazhe had a number of enchantments he wore, which made him quite literally invisible when he crouched down. Harry, meanwhile, simply donned his cloak of invisibility. Enchantments on his boots made him completely silent.

Already having poked about the castle while invisible as it was, Harry quickly made his way up the stairs, and through a set of doors leading into the private part of the castle. As luck would have it, the doors were open, making it easier to get in without anyone noticing.

Then it was up another set of stairs, leading into a private dining room, where two guards stood watch. The doors leading into the room he needed to visit were closed, making it slightly more difficult. Harry drew his wand.

“ _Confundus_ ,” he whispered, wand pointed at the first. The guard's eyes flicked around a moment, then stared forward again. He repeated the process with the second, and satisfied with the result, he pushed the doors open, and entered the Jarl's private chamber.

He pushed the doors closed again, then approached the large desk, only to groan. There had to be dozens of letters there! This would take a while. He started leafing through the stack. Letters from the other Jarls, citizens of the hold... letters from the Imperial Legion... there. A letter from Solitude's Steward. He broke the seal, and looked at the contents.

 

_To Proventus Avenicci, Steward of Whiterun_

_Let it be known that we are seeking the criminal named Arn for the crime of murder in Solitude. If you should locate him, detain him and contact me by courier as soon as possible._

_Falk Firebeard, Steward of Solitude(2)_

 

Harry re-folded the parchment, set it on the desk, and drew his wand.

“ _Geminio_ ,” he whispered, gesturing a the page. An identical copy appeared beside it. He snatched it up, then gestured again. “ _Incendio_.”

The original copy burst into flames, and was reduced to ashes within moments. It wasn't exactly stealing, right?

He met with Mazhe just inside the doors to the private part of the castle only a few minutes later.

“Get it?”

“Yeah. Ready?” Harry felt Mazhe grab his arm, and they Disapparated.

They arrived back outside the Drunken Huntsman. Stepping inside, they found Olfrid hadn't moved from his table in the corner. Mazhe again took the seat opposite, while Harry reached into his pocket, and retrieved the copied letter.

“This is a copy. The other's been destroyed. Your, uh, friend should be safe now,” said Harry, holding out the letter.

“Destroyed?” Olfrid questioned.

“Reduced to a pile of ashes,” Harry answered.

“And the prison record?”

“It was no trouble, sir,” Mazhe answered.

“Then we are done here. Here's your payment,” said Olfrid, reaching into his pockets, and pulling out a bag of coins. “Oh, and let Delvin know he has my support and all the weight it carries in Whiterun from here on out. He should be quite pleased.”

“We'll do that, sir,” said Mazhe, with an incline of the head. “The Guild thanks you for the support.”

“You watch yourself out there.(3)”

“We will. Harry...” Harry gripped Mazhe by the shoulder, and the pair popped away, leaving the old Nord momentarily startled at their abrupt disappearance.

The pair reappeared with an equally noisy crack just inside the entrance to the Ragged Flagon. Harry knew better than to pop in any closer—last time it had nearly resulted in Vex stabbing him several times. They quickly made their way into the pub proper, where Delvin was seated at his usual table.

“Aren't you pair supposed to be on your way to Whiterun?”

“It's already done, Delvin. Olfrid was most pleased with the outcome,” Mazhe answered, taking a seat.

“Ah, right then. Forgot 'bout Harry's method of travel. How 'bout you catch a breather, then we can carry on with the afternoon lesson?”

“Sounds right,” Harry agreed. He could tell he'd gained a further level of respect from the Guild second. Naturally, he'd wait until there was confirmation, but the speed at which the job had been done was truly impressive.

“Harry, really. If you'd just be willing to bend the rules a little more, you could make us—and yourself a fortune,” said Mazhe.

“I said it before. My conscience won't let me. If I can't justify it, I can't do it,” Harry answered. “Not to mention, personal wealth doesn't mean a whole lot to me. The health and safety of my friends on the other hand... that means the world. And quite honestly, you guys here... are becoming something like a second family. Guess that's why I'm willing to do as much as I have so far.”

“Harry, you've returned,” said Niruin, as he entered from the Cistern. “Thought you'd both gone to Whiterun.”

“We did. The job was not really that complicated given my tools,” Harry answered.

“Ah. Well then. If you're ready, we can retreat to the training room.”

“Just give me a few minutes, I'll be right in.”

* * *

It was a couple of days after that Delvin received word back from Whiterun. It came in the form of a Bosmer named Syndus, an expert Fletcher wishing to open up a market stall in one of alcoves outside the Ragged Flagon. This announcement had the Flagon abuzz with excitement, considering it had been years since any of the alcoves had been occupied. Syndus also bore a sealed parchment for Delvin from Olfrid, and it put to rest any doubts the job had been completed satisfactorily.

That of course, led to more assignments from Delvin, though as Harry had specified, none of them involved anything truly illegal. Although, if Harry had to admit, some of the assignments were questionable in nature, dealing with illegal substances. His potions and alchemy skills were nothing to snuff at, and sometimes it involved making a deadly potion. Other times, it involved retrieving an item. Harry knew better than to ask questions, knowing that quite likely he wouldn't like the answers. He just did as asked to the letter, knowing that the Guild only gained strength by his actions.

He saw the relationship as a useful one, tending to and growing friendships among its members, that one day, could be of great benefit should he need assistance. Much like he had gained a strong backing of the College. He knew that if he asked, a great number of mages there would be at his back, ready to go to the wall for him and then some.

Even now, with the exception of a few, he knew he could quite easily count on most of the thieves there if he asked for help with something. Both Delvin and Niruin were providing training without charge at this point, something that was normally just not done in the Guild. Naturally, Harry wasn't all that pleased about that sort of exception, but Brynjolf had set him straight. It was a different form of payment for Harry's jobs. Sure, he was being paid in gold, but not nearly the same as Mazhe. And that, he could easily live with.

* * *

By the middle of the month, Justin had presented Mazhe with a box of mobile phones, all of them configured to work with the magical environment. Mazhe had approached Brynjolf about the idea, and he'd mentioned it to Mercer. The Guild Master was somewhat less than impressed with the idea, but since he'd not outright said 'no', the okay was given. So, Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex each received one, and a phone was left in the event Mercer changed his mind on things. An afternoon was spent reviewing how they worked, as well as how to change things (silent ring, vibrate, and so on, so that the phone ringing while they were working wouldn't create problems).

At this point, Harry had also taken on yet another trainer, this time in Falion. It meant either Apparating or taking a port key to Morthal, but he knew it was worth it given the material.

On their first visit, Falion helped them to dispose of yet another Horcrux, although it meant the destruction of a valuable artefact in the process. The circlet let out a terrible cry as it burned, with a black vapour-like substance being sucked into the offered black soul gem. Mazhe once again used it to recharge one of his items, and with that, yet another piece of Voldemort's soul was banished to the Soul Cairn.

* * *

_April 10, 2006 / 10 Rain's Hand, 4E201_

Harry had just gotten into bed. It had been yet another very busy day, as he was in full revision mode a this point, preparing for O.W.L. exams. Of course, the exams weren't until the end of May, but given the events of the past four and a half years, there had been numerous interruptions, bringing with them potential gaps in course material.

The powerful mental spike came out of nowhere, nearly sending him into unconsciousness with its strength. Even with all the careful instruction on the part of Healer Ferris, Harry had still not been able to prevent the incidents. If anything, they had become stronger as he got better at occluding his thoughts. Tommy had been the one to help him finally master the art, simply pointing out, “We rule our own head.” From there, Harry got rather creative with his mental defences, and so became more than adept at keeping his teacher out.

Even with all of that, Voldemort was still able to send him mental spikes. And this... Harry summoned a headache potion, but knew it wouldn't do a whole lot of good. It was a different sort of pain.

It proved to be a long night. Emotions ranging from excitement, to anger, to pleasure, back to anger, to outright white-hot fury, all blasted across the strange link he shared with his nemesis. Harry did not get a whole lot of sleep, and when he finally got up to join the group in their morning exercise program, he was not a happy camper.

“Harry... eyes here,” said Tommy, as they were finishing up the morning routine in the Ragnar's athletic centre. They were going through a series of stretches to cool down and keep the muscles loose.

“Sorry.”

“More shit from Voldemort.” It wasn't a question.

“From the time I went to bed until I got up, yeah.”

“Maybe Healer Ferris--”

“I already asked. Occlumency is the only thing that had any hope of keeping him out—ouch...”

“Sorry.”

“At this point... it's something I have to deal with. His death is the only thing that'll end these... intrusions.”

“One more. Good.” Tommy helped Harry to his feet, and it was at that moment they spotted Captain O'Toole, along with Will and Alice approaching the group. All three of them carried grave looks. They were bringing bad news.

Harry grabbed a towel and wiped his face and hands, then replaced his glasses.

“Oh. 'morning sir... Will, Alice,” Justin greeted.

“I wish it was, Dr. Fraser,” said the captain.

“Harry, there's been an incident in London overnight.”

“So that's why I was getting mental spikes from Voldemort all night,” Harry muttered. “What happened?”

“Voldemort and a group of Death Eaters broke into the Ministry of Magic last night,” Captain O'Toole explained, “At this point we don't know what he was looking for, but Dumbledore did manage to get the Order of the Phoenix on scene. If one good thing did come of it, a number of high-profile Death Eaters were captured and are now waiting in Ministry holding cells.”

“What's the bad news?” Justin asked.

“Several Aurors were killed, as were a few members of the Order,” said Will.

“Harry, Sirius was there last night and--”

“He's gone,” Harry finished, feeling numb.

By no means had he formed a strong relationship with his godfather. He'd come along too late for that, really. However, the news of his passing still angered the young wizard, considering it was a connection to his parents.

“Was... what about Remus?”

“He was injured, but healers were able to get him fixed up pretty quickly. He's back in Trevelyan now,” Will answered.

“I... I need some time to think,” Harry said.

“Given Sirius was one of your tutors--”

“I won't be doing any studying today,” Harry answered stiffly. He didn't say another word, but gave a twist and popped away.

“Not good,” Will muttered.

* * *

It was several hours later before they caught up with him. Attempts to reach him on his mobile only reached his voice mail—it was likely he'd turned it off. Initially, a more urgent effort was mounted, but Tommy put the brakes on it. Perhaps some time alone was what the young wizard needed at the moment.

Therefore, it was the early afternoon before his circle caught up with him. A call to Delvin had solved the mystery as to where Harry had gone—back to the Ragged Flagon. They found him at a table off to the side, a half-eaten lunch in front of him, and a bag of coins off to the side.

Tommy slid into a seat across from him. “Harry.”

“Huh?” He had a dazed look on his face, and a nasty mark that ran down the left side of his face from the bottom of his ear to the top of his armour. It was mostly healed, but the evidence was still there.

“Shit. What happened to you?”

“Bad-ass Draugr or something like that,” Harry muttered, “Got me good. Used most of my healing potions to fix it.”

Justin shook his head. “Jesus, Harry. A little reckless, don't you think?”

“Fuck off.”

“Seriously. What happened?” Tommy asked. A nasty cut was nothing new in his books, they'd gotten into far worse years earlier. It was worrisome, but at this point, Harry was more than capable of looking after himself.

“I was sent to retrieve a chest of items for a client... Bandits had ran off with it, robbed some caravan a few days ago. It ended up being in a cave full of Draugr. I think I would've rather faced the bandits.”

“A stupid question, but how you feeling?” Mazhe asked, taking the other open seat.

“I dunno. Angry. Furious. Sad? He was... he could've been family. He was dad's best friend and now he's gone. I didn't... I didn't have the chance to say good bye...”

Mazhe reached over and gripped Harry's shoulder. “I'll always be here for you. I know what it's like all too well.”

That earned a weak smile from the young mage, but it faltered.

“Thanks.”

“Will says he's looking into someone who can... well... fill in as a tutor,” said Justin, “Not to be callous or anything, but you do need someone to help you review.”

“I... yeah, I know.” He looked at Mazhe. “Want this? I'm not hungry.” He gestured at his half-eaten lunch.

* * *

Sirius' funeral was on April 15, with a large number of the Order attending, as did Harry and his circle of friends. To no one's surprise, Dumbledore was there, but he kept things civil, for the most part. The weather provided a rather dreary backdrop, more than appropriate as it mirrored Harry's feelings on the matter. He'd lost a friend, a tutor, a mentor, and an ally.

Then, a few days after that, came the will reading. In that case, it was a simple meeting with a solicitor in Trevelyan, and the signing of a few documents. In a surprise move, Sirius had left Harry just about everything, save for a sizable chunk of money which went to Remus, encouraging him to settle down and 'marry a certain metamorphmagus, or I'll come back and haunt your arse...'. Harry had to chuckle at that, although his eyes prickled a bit. Even from the grave, Sirius still found a way to bring about humour. The wealth, though, he really didn't care too much about. He'd give it all up, if he could have Sirius back.

Given the sudden death of Sirius, plans were then put in place to move Remus, along with Tommy's nieces, completely from harm's way. Although Harry did not know it up to this point, the Commonwealth was already in communication with the Jarl of Riften, securing a parcel of land near the city. The details were still being worked out, but it was being moved along expeditiously.

* * *

That following weekend, Justin, Will, and Alice all but dragged Harry and Mazhe back to the Fox Theatre. “Music is good for the soul,” Alice had said. _AT &T_, one of the big telecommunication giants in the U.S., had sponsored a tournament for school show choirs. Schools all over North America had entered the draw, from which twelve clubs were chosen, to compete over two days.

At the end of the event, Harry was more than thankful for the distraction—the music had been outstanding. A school from Arizona ended up taking top prize with a powerful rendition of “ _I dreamed a dream_ ”, from _Les Miserables_.(4)

* * *

Harry threw himself into his studies and revision, using it as a way to deal with the second significant loss in under a year. Between that, his Occlumency lessons, the exercises in the morning, and the odd assignment from the Guild, he didn't have a whole lot of time to think. To Harry, that was perfect.

Before he realized it, June had arrived, and with it, O.W.L. exams. There had been debate as to where he would take those important tests, but in the end, it was decided it would be best if he joined fifth-year students at Sir Malcolm Davis Institute in Trevelyan. He didn't know anyone there personally, and while the students there would certainly know who he was, there wouldn't be a lot of fanfare about him being there.

It was only natural he had some anxiety when it came to the exams, but over the two-week period, he used the mental exercises he'd learned from two sources. In the end, the exams were not nearly as frightful as he'd expected, and so he had a good feeling about the results. Of course, considering just who he was, it was unlikely there would be too many things he wouldn't be able to do later in life—not that he was being arrogant in that sort of thinking—it was just the blunt truth.

* * *

_June 20, 2006 / 20 Mid-year, 4E201_

There had been debate as to when the initial findings from the international investigation should be released to the public. Hogwarts was still somewhat in session, although there were only a few more days left before the Hogwarts Express returned students to London for their summer holiday.

Then again, perhaps the timing was ideal, giving the students the chance to hear that preliminary report straight from the horses' mouth, rather than painted with some slant or other by the wizarding press. So it was, that afternoon, classes were cancelled, and the student body brought into the Great Hall for the press conference. Reporters from dozens of media outlets had also been crammed into the room, many of them forced to stand, as the investigating panel gathered at the lectern. Harry and his circle, naturally, were in attendance, choosing to stick with his school friends, as the findings were revealed. It was only fitting he be there, given the number of incidents he'd faced while a student.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Karen Trulls, and I am the Secretary for Education with the International Confederation of Wizards. We are gathered here at Hogwarts due to an unprecedented series of events and incidents, which have drawn the unfortunate attention of my division. It is not normally prudent for the international body to interfere with individual members as to the operation of their places of education. However, considering the circumstances at hand, we were forced to act.

“For the past four months, an international panel of educators have been quietly observing the day to day operations of the school, interviewing its staff and students, and reviewing historical records. I will now turn the floor over to Doug Flanders, Secretary of Education for the American Department of Magic.”

The petite witch stepped back from the lectern, giving a nod to a dark-skinned wizard to her left. The room, surprisingly, remained quiet, as the man took the podium, and pulled out a sheaf of papers out of his suit jacket pocket. The man looked like a Muggle businessman more than a wizard. He smoothed out the papers in front of him.

“Thank you, madam secretary,” spoke the man, in a deep southern accent. “I have been inspecting this hallowed school with my fellow educators, for the past four months, all of us having arrived here on the thirtieth of January, par the Confederation's mandate. The following observations have been noted, and we as a panel have come to a unanimous agreement as to the findings. A full copy will be left with the board of governors when this conference is concluded, and a lesser, edited version will be released to the media. I will only touch on a few of the highlights, situations and circumstances which demand the most immediate action.

“I will begin with the inspection of Potions, a core subject as mandated by the ICW's Department of Education. We must first be very clear in that Severus Snape is perhaps one of the best potions masters in the art alive today. However, his methods of teaching are abysmal at best, and his mannerisms toward most students within the school gravitate toward frigid. The number of students who make it into his N.E.W.T. level classes can usually be counted on one hand. Interviews with many healers and Aurors from the past decade have revealed that most have been forced to acquire their Potions O.W.L. and N.E.W.T.s outside of Hogwarts.

“The panel recommends that Potions Master Snape be restricted to one-on-one teaching, perhaps apprenticing, rather than teaching a larger class, such is the case here at Hogwarts.”

Harry looked to the head table, and could just barely see the teacher in question. He appeared to be foaming at the mouth.

“Our second point falls to the History of Magic. Another core subject that has garnered a dubious reputation here within the school. Whether or not Cuthbert Binns has the proper teaching credentials is not the issue of contention here. History of Magic should cover _all_ of our history, not only the goblin wars. I should also point out, we do not find fault with him being a ghost, and do applaud him for being so dedicated. However, given he is only interested in covering one part of our history, and not all of it, a change must be made.

“Individuals teaching without the proper credentials, among other things, has been a problem here at the school on numerous occasions, in fact, as our review of recent history has clearly demonstrated. We do not fault the headmaster for this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, given she was more or less forced here. However, the case with Mr. Lockhart, the headmaster was expected to conduct some sort of inquiry as to whether or not the man actually had the credentials before he was allowed into the classroom.

“An equally alarming thing of note, is the pair of instances where an individual tied to a terrorist organization was allowed to teach. In both instances, it resulted in a student, or several students being put in harm's way. A school must at all times ensure the safety and security of those within its walls, whether they be student, educator, or guest.

“Still on the note of teaching, I come to the situation surrounding Rubeus Hagrid. His enthusiasm toward his subject is commendable, however, we do find the syllabus to be somewhat inappropriate for the younger years. We recommend that perhaps he retain the N.E.W.T. level classes, while a new instructor see to years three, four, and five. Those students should be introduced to lesser, more tame magical creatures, while those Professor Hagrid introduces are more appropriate for older students.

“We turn our attention to the headmaster himself, the individual responsible for the operation of the school as a whole. We find that on a number of occasions, both during the past few months, and historically, he has outright failed in his responsibility toward the school. It is the responsibility of the headmaster or headmistress to ensure the safety of everyone in the building. It is the responsibility of the headmaster or headmistress, to ensure the teaching staff are meeting the requirements of their station, and that they are doing their absolute best, to ensure those they are teaching become the best that they can be.

“It is our agreed upon opinion that, Albus Dumbledore has not done any of that in some time. Being in control of the school's formidable wards, it was his responsibility to investigate when a banned, dark artefact was being used on students within the school's walls. There have been numerous other situations, all of which have been confirmed with sworn statements, where the headmaster has failed to act, when action was required. Some of those will be included in the press kit, the full disclosure will be made to the board of governors at the conclusion of this conference.

“My last point I will cover is with regard to the house system here at Hogwarts. What may have been a wonderful system devised by the school's founders to group together like-minded witches and wizards, it has, over the years, degenerated into a near-war due to differences of opinion. This circumstance has most certainly not been helped by the professors, who have fanned the flames—unintentionally or not—resulting in a virtually violent rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor house. The segregation of students has allowed a dangerous rift to form and opinions to form about a student only from the colour of their tie and the badge appearing on their uniform. If allowed to continue, it will only be a matter of time before a student is killed.”

The disclosure went on for another half-hour, as the press asked numerous questions about the report, but Harry had heard enough. He collected his circle, and they quietly left the Great Hall, and returned to the Ragnar. If anything, the international panel had been thorough. The major issues had been mentioned, and now it would be of real interest to see exactly how the school's board of governors would react.

* * *

_June 26, 2006_

 

_DUMBLEDORE REMOVED AS HEADMASTER_

_Board of Governors react to ICW Findings_

_HOGSMEADE (AWP)(5)—Stemming from the international panel's review of the operations at Hogwarts, the school's board of governors all voted unanimously to remove the ageing wizard from the school's head. Professor Minerva McGonagall has been named to the position in the interim, with the potential for that to be permanent, should she distance herself from her predecessor and act in a positive manner toward the recommendations put forward by the international panel._

_When questioned yesterday about the findings of the panel and the decision rendered by the board, the (former) headmaster had little to say, other than “They have all made a grave error in judgement.” Now exactly who or what Professor Dumbledore was referring to, he declined to elaborate, as he left the school, looking older and more frail than in recent memory._

_Acting Headmistress McGonagall addressed the assembled press, noting, “It has been a most unfortunate turn, for Hogwarts to be in the international spotlight for the wrong reasons. Rest assured, I am taking the findings of the international panel to heart, and act with the intention of making sure this ancient place of learning moves forward, and remains competitive amongst the fine magical schools of the world._

_A second contingent from the ICW will be inspecting the school, and myself, as well as my colleagues, will be cooperating and assisting where necessary, to ensure the school is indeed safe for those who call it home for ten months out of the year.”_

_When asked about the panel's findings with regard to several teachers, McGonagall answered, “We are taking steps to resolve those issues, and rest assured, we are taking the panel's report to heart. The age of unacceptable conduct here at Hogwarts is at an end.”_

_A large number of students, as well as a number of parents and Hogwarts alumni applauded the actions of the governing board, one of them quoted, “It's about time the school was brought kicking and screaming into modern times...”_

_See “The...” (page 2)_

_Recap, ICW Contingent's findings (Page 3)_

_Salem, Hogwarts, and Sir Malcolm Davis Institute, comparisons (Page 3)_

 

“Gods. If they truly clean things up, I might return,” said Harry, folding the paper and tossing it across the table.

“Nah, you'd be bored and you know it,” Justin grinned, “You're too old for them now anyway.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Harry agreed, “Beside that, my training's really outgrown the classroom at this point.”

“So true.”

“Yeah, speaking of. Hurry it up so we can get started,” said Tommy. First thing Mondays meant unarmed combat training.

“Good. This mention of Dumbledore makes me want to kick stuff... maybe I'll transfigure the combat dummies into effigies. Again.” That got snickers from around the table. “And given official classes are over, I can spend some extra time this morning.”

“Uh, not too long. I think Delvin might have an assignment for you this afternoon,” said Mazhe.

“Never mind the dinner party we have tonight. You invited Ron and Hermione over, right?”

“Yep. And the twins. And Neville. They were all busy on the weekend,” Harry grinned.

“Now that Fred and George own that shop of theirs... likely they're gonna be more than busy for a while,” said Justin. He glanced at the clock. “I gotta go. I'll see you guys at lunch.” He stood up, and popped away.

* * *

Dinner had been another noisy affair with Harry and his closest friends. As had been planned, Harry had invited Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Neville over. However, it also expanded to once again include the other three Triwizard champions, since school had concluded for them as well. That, in turn, meant yet another addition, in the form of the eldest Weasley. It resulted in the table and the conference room itself being expanded a little to accommodate the extra people.

Now, with the feast over with, the party had broken down into smaller groups, with Harry circulating amongst them. He grinned, seeing Ron challenge Viktor to a game of chess. The two were finally getting over the frigid opening—Ron had been more than put-out that Viktor had asked Hermione to go to the Yule Ball with him. It seemed he was getting over it.

Bill and Fleur... Harry had to smirk at that one. They were already smitten with each other, he could see that a mile away. When she'd asked if it was all right for him to come along, it was quite easy for him to say 'yes'. Bill had been right helpful on several occasions already. He was considered an ally in the British wizarding world.

“Harry. I gotta go. Brynjolf needs me back at the Guild, something's come up.” Mazhe had a scrap of parchment in his hand. It had likely arrived through the magical post box he carried in his satchel. The mate to it had been left with Brynjolf, since Mazhe was doing most of his business with the Guild at this point.

“Err... all right. See you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah. We'll be through after our morning session. It'll be good once Remus gets his floo connected, it'll be easier to get there,” said Harry.

“Not a worry. I'll take him through,” Remus offered.

“Who looks after Tommy's nieces when you're here?” Hermione questioned. Predictable, she had her nose in a book, although she did sit right next to Ron.

“There's a kind lady we met in the Bee and Barb. It's only a few Septims,” Harry explained.

“If you're ready,” said Remus.

“Yeah. Let's go.” Harry watched Remus and Mazhe vanish into the green flames. Definitely need that second floo connection. Now, it meant a landing at the College, followed immediately by Apparating to the Ragged Flagon.

“ _Lieutenant Commander McAllister and First Lieutenant Gomrass to the AIC immediately,_ ” came a voice over the public address system.

“Crap. Looks like we're needed. I don't need to say behave while we're gone,” Brandon smirked. Harry smirked right back.

It was less than a minute after the pair of Black Watch members had left, when the radio stopped playing music, and an announcer cut in.

“ _We're going live to the south block of the Commonwealth parliament, where chief justice Marshall Craigland is about to speak..._ ”

There was a momentary pause.

“ _...on October 31 of last year, an incident of near catastrophic proportions unfolded at Boardwalk Hall, a non-magical entertainment facility in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Over the past year, myself and a number of my colleagues have conducted a board of enquiry into the events of that night, in order to determine what part the Commonwealth's government and its military forces played in said event. My findings..._ ”

“Put the music back on,” Ron complained.

“No, leave it,” said Harry, glancing at Tommy, who had been up to this point nursing a bottle of beer in a comfortable chair. The radio had certainly caught his attention.

“ _Initial reports from individuals interviewed following the incident all reported seeing the perpetrators wearing silver masks, casting green bolts of energy which killed any who were struck by it. This much, we confirm was indeed accurate._

“ _As to whether or not they were Death Eaters, agents of Tom Riddle, we can now all declare with absolute certainty, this was NOT the case. Instead, this panel, after reviewing the testimony and evidence, can only point the finger back at our own armed forces, specifically that of her majesty's special force, the Special Operations Unit. As to the nature of exactly why this was carried out, the individuals responsible—”_

SMASH. Every item of glass on the fireplace mantle seemed to detonate, forcing those close by to duck and cover from the shards. The radio itself was next, as it seemed to disintegrate into a pile of twisted and smoking wreckage.

“Harry, please!” Justin pleaded, “We—” he was forced to duck an angry blast of magic.

“You... you bastards.” Harry was volcanic at this point, and looking at Tommy, he could see his friend was in the same shape. He looked murderous.

“Harry?” Hermione pleaded.

“We're done. I'm done. I'm done with the lot.”

Knowing he had only a few seconds, he grabbed Tommy by the wrist, and dragged him out of his seat, and over to the fireplace. The floo powder thrown into the grate, Harry commanded, “College of Winterhold!” The pair of them vanished in the green flames.

It took a few seconds for anyone to react, as they were clearly shocked by what just happened. Not only had the glass on the mantle been destroyed, but many plates, cups, and other dishes in the conference room. Two of the large windows had also cracked, something which Commander Dawson had assured them could never happen.

Justin immediately attempted to follow, tossing a fistful of floo powder into the grate, and calling out the same location. He was ejected back out of the fireplace only a second later, having gotten nowhere.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry retreats to Riften, where he finds comfort in a new family of sorts; Harry helps Mazhe with a major Guild assignment; and a job assignment for Mazhe in August/Last Seed ends unexpectedly..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: This chapter may have felt a little rushed, but given the number of things going on, I wanted to just move things along._   
> _So, I wasn't going to start tackling any of the more important parts of the Thieves Guild, but the timing felt about right. And of course, there are things going on behind the scenes that I'm not going to actually write. It's assumed that Mazhe is a full member of the Guild at this point, and likely has been for a year or so. The initial jobs were done off and on, likely the previous summer, before the Quidditch World Cup & so on. Harry's initiation was significantly different, in that he turned in a massive profit with one fell-sweep, something very few thieves have done in recent memory. It may have been revenge-fuelled, but no less impressive, and even Mercer would have took notice._   
> _(1) and (3): Some of it verbatim. (C) Bethesda._   
> _(2) Body of letter is verbatim content, (C) Bethesda. Title and closing was modified to put a more personal touch on the letter. I believe the steward of a hold would be most certainly aware of who the stewards were in the others. Being in contact with one another wouldn't be a rarity._   
> _(4) I should note that, “Glee” has actually covered this song in its first season (during the episode “Dream On”)._   
> _(5) AWP – Associated Wizarding Press. Who's to say there wasn't something like this in the wizarding world?_


	21. 17 Last Seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry retreats to Riften, where he finds comfort in a new family of sorts; Harry helps Mazhe with a major Guild assignment; and a job assignment for Mazhe in August/Last Seed ends unexpectedly..._

**22: 17 LAST SEED**

**26 Mid-year – 17 Last Seed, 4E201**

* * *

Harry and Tommy were ejected out of the fireplace rather roughly. Harry brandished his wand at the fireplace, gripping it so tightly it was vibrating in his hand.

“ _REDUCTO_!”

There was a terrible explosion, as bricks, mortar and debris went in all directions, the fireplace being violently blasted from the wall. It was as if Harry had directed all of his wrath at the inanimate object. Tommy had known enough to cover himself against the violence, and so was not harmed. He'd seen Harry angry before, but this... was above and beyond. Of course, in the circumstance, Tommy was practically in the same boat, for exactly the same reason.

“ _Unslaad Tahrodiis!(1)_ ” Harry snarled, then made a nasty face. “ _Nust fen ni meyz het.(2)_ ”

“What?”

“ _MEY!!! TAHRODIIS!(3)_ ” Harry thundered again, as his world seemed to come crashing down around him.

“Harry? By... by the eight! What happened?!” Tolfdir cautiously approached the young mage, alarmed at the destruction.

“ _Tahrodiis_ ,” Harry said again, his voice shaky, “ _Tahrodiis_.”

“T-treachery,” Tolfdir remembered. “What happened?”

“ _Nok. Nax. Vul Tahrodiis._ (4)” Harry sucked in several deep breaths. “Lies. They...” he let out a growl. “ _Aav dilon, meyye!_ ”

He sank to his knees, still feeling the rage coursing through his veins.

Tommy, at this point, was nearly volcanic himself, feeling every bit as enraged and betrayed as Harry was, but finally found his voice.

“Valicadia... they... they're why I'm here. Why I'm with Harry. Why my brother and my pop are dead. Why I'm nineteen rather than twenty-nine.” His voice was calm, but to look into the guy's eyes, there was a fiery rage lurking just below the surface.

“They can all fuck off and die,” Harry finally snarled, at last speaking the common language.

“G-get... Harry... get grounded. Plan, right?”

“What plan?!” Harry laughed, looking half-mad at this point. “Everything I know or did now... every sense of safety, security, truth... has been twisted and blown from here to Timbuktu!”

“I am truly sorry,” Tolfdir apologized, “Whatever you might need, the College is here for you.”

“Thank you, Tolfdir.”

Harry collected himself, willing himself to calm down. Tommy was right. He needed a level head to think things through a bit more. No doubt the Commonwealth would be trying to get in touch with him.

“Phones off.”

“Right.” Tommy pulled out his phone and turned it off, as Harry did the same thing.

“If the Commonwealth calls, tell them to go to hell. They're not welcome here.”

“I'll let the others know.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry was regaining his centre, able to think a little more clearly.

“Let's get out of here. Mazhe's in the _Flagon_ isn't he?” Tommy suggested.

“Hopefully. Good thinking.” Harry glanced around the room and gestured with his wand, vanishing the rubble. “Sorry about the, uh, mess.”

“You had all the right in the world,” said Tolfdir. “The pair of you do be safe.” He gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze, before leaving the room.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Uh... wait. Port key. You'll splinch us.”

“Right.” Harry snatched up an empty ink bottle, and touched it with his wand. “ _Portus_.”

Moments later, they landed in a whirl of limbs just outside the Ragged Flagon. Dirge was momentarily startled by the arrival, but relaxed, realizing it was Harry and Tommy. They were met only seconds later by Mazhe.

“Harry. Justin—”

“Can fuck off and die,” Harry finished, venomously.

“But...”

“The Commonwealth is the reason we were nearly killed in Atlantic City. They're why Tommy's with us!” Harry seethed, “The lot of them can go to hell.”

“Oh. C'mon. Goldenglow will have to wait until morning. Vekel! A round of your specials!” Mazhe called out, as he guided his two friends to a table.

“Need to see everyone's phone a 'sec,” said Tommy, pulling his mobile out. He was working the buttons quickly.

“What for?” Delvin asked.

“Got some numbers to block. How the fuck's this shit still working though?”

“Don't know. They won't be coming through the fireplace though,” Harry muttered, pulling out his own mobile and putting it on the table. Delvin and Vex brought theirs over, and Delvin asked, “Your Commonwealth is an enemy then?”

“What about your school friends?”

“Look. All I know, is a place I thought truly looked out for me... was just like my place of birth. The very people supposed to watch out for us were involved in some dark plot—that killed hundreds of people, including his brother and father,” Harry snarled, gesturing toward Tommy. “Never... nothing I've seen here, done here... could amount to something like that. And to think... we trusted them to watch our backs. _Tahrodiis mey._ Treacherous fools.”

“Mazhe, good, you've—“ Brynjolf had just stepped into the Flagon from the Cistern, mobile in hand. “Just the lad I wanted to see,” he said, spotting Harry. “These aren't working anymore.”

“That solves that,” Tommy muttered.

“Port key button should still work.”

“I did blow up the fireplace back at the College,” said Harry.

“But if that disrupted the connection, it should've been instant,” Mazhe countered.

“Got no clue. Some of the shit the Commonwealth can do still has me in the dark... and now quite honestly I could care less.”

“Something else happened,” Brynjolf guessed.

“Found out some terrible truths about people I thought were friends,” Harry answered, not looking up. It was then Vekel brought over a platter of small mugs filled with a dark liquid.

“Thank you,” said Tommy, claiming one of the mugs. Mazhe had the right idea: get totally blitzed. It would make them forget, at least for a little while. Harry, meanwhile, spoke in a dangerous tone.

“Be it known that the Commonwealth of Valicadia is considered an enemy to us, as are all who act as agents of them. They should not be welcome here.”

“With Harry,” said Tommy.

“Agreed. With Harry,” said Mazhe, “I don't know all the details, but... I was there.”

“And your friend set up outside of Riften?” Vex asked.

“No. He's an honorary godfather, not involved in this. He's still most certainly a friend.” Harry took a deep drink from his mug. “Anyone else...”

“They're no longer welcome here,” said Vekel.

“Would've been good if the phones still worked though,” said Tommy, “They would've been able to give us a heads-up if someone did show up here.”

“The connection back to your own world, is it still there?” Brynjolf wondered.

“Blown into a million pieces. So no, they won't be coming in that way.”

“But it's not the only way they can come here,” said Mazhe, “They have the Orb of Magnus.”

“Yeah, they could still show up. The College of Winterhold will be sure to give them a lovely welcome,” said Harry, nastily, “I know Enthir alone can be _very_ creative.”

“Shor's bones, I don't ever remember seeing you this stirred up, lad,” said Brynjolf, shaking his head.

“Stabbed in the back by people he trusted, 'bryn,” said Delvin, “You don't do that to family.”

“Aye, you don't.” Brynjolf scratched the back of his head. “Drink up, then come into the Cistern, we can provide you pair a place to rest.”

“Thank you,” said Tommy.

Of course, it wouldn't be the first time they'd crashed in the den of thieves. Now, though, it was likely to become a more long-term arrangement. He could already guess where Harry was headed, having violently and forcibly removed the connection back to their own world.

No, it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to see the young wizard settle into a life with the Guild. And honestly, Harry didn't really do anything too bad, mostly sticking to the stuff that had honest intentions and outcomes.

Sometime later, neither Tommy nor Harry were in any condition to do a whole lot. Vekel's special concoctions were nearly poisonous with their potency. So neither of them were exactly conscious, when they were quite literally carried into the Cistern, and deposited on a pair of vacant beds.

“ _Tahrodiis_...” Harry muttered, and rolled over.

“What sort of language is that?” Brynjolf asked, as they walked away.

“Dragon tongue.”

Brynjolf arched an eyebrow. “The lad speaks the ancient language?”

“Only bits and pieces. He's been learning since he was seven or eight. And you know Farengar, the court wizard of Whiterun?” At the Guild second's nod, Mazhe continued, “He gave Harry a stack of books covering the ancient dragon lore, including some of the language. He doesn't use it much since not too many others know what it means.”

“It might be a fortunate thing, a silver lining, this turn of events. Harry might make us a lot more coin.”

“That won't happen, 'Bryn. I know him too well, he won't blatantly break the law without a good reason. Never mind his friend who's still here.”

“Moved here after that unfortunate incident in Rain's Hand. I remember.”

“Knowing Harry, it's likely he'll probably move there. He won't ever impose on us.”

“He's not imposing--”

“He'll feel it is.” Mazhe lowered his voice. “Not to mention, Mercer doesn't exactly make him feel welcome.”

“Aye, but that's the way he is with everyone.”

“And until Harry understands that he'll want to sleep elsewhere... come to think of it, you've seen his chest. I'm surprised they didn't use it... though he was out of sorts when he came in. I still can't believe...” Mazhe shook his head and flipped the hair out of his face. Indeed, treachery on a grand scale.

“Lots to think about. And you need some rest. You need to be sharp on that island.”

“I know, 'Bryn. I've spoken to Vex already. And if Harry's here... I'll see if he might like to come along. He might be able to talk to Aringoth and figure out what's going on.”

“Agreed. Just be careful.”

* * *

Far earlier than expected, Harry found himself being shaken awake.

“Harry? Here. Hangover cure, and a pepper-up potion.”

“Wha... what for?” Harry mumbled, though he accepted both items. It was a good idea, as his head seemed to be about five times its normal size, and every noise seemed to cause head-splitting pain. The potions did their job, and in less than a minute, he was feeling more than perky.

“Unh... what about me?” Tommy mumbled, from the next bed over. He felt just as bad. He found another set of potions pushed into his hand, and he consumed both.

Harry, meanwhile, swung his legs over the side of the bed, then gestured at himself, instantly changing his clothes.

“Might want to change again. Where's your Guild armour?”

“What for?”

“You're coming with me on a little assignment,” Mazhe answered.

Tommy looked at Harry. “Go for it. Leave the chest, I can do shit in the projection room until you get back.”

“I'll be bringing the chest with me. Here.” Harry produced it and re sized it. Then, as soon as Tommy had climbed in and closed the lid, he picked it back up, shrunk it back down, and put it in his pocket. Another gesture of his hand, and he again changed outfits, this time to his Guild armour.

“Thing that always confuses me. How is it when you change your outfit, you don't have to empty your pockets?”

“No clue, Mazhe. Some of it's just in the intent. Now I have to remember where things end up and so on, but whatever I'm carrying ends up moved to the outfit I'm wearing.”

The distraction was a good thing, as they walked the road heading west along the south shore of Lake Honrich. Having already known where Goldenglow Estate was, they could have easily Apparated there, but that would risk alerting the mercenaries of their arrival. From what Vex had told Mazhe, the place had at least eight outside, and at least four more inside the house itself.

Once they arrived at the bridge, they split up. Harry would enter the house and take care of the safe, while Mazhe would deal with the bee hives. When it was explained exactly what they were going to do, Harry was somewhat resistant, until Mazhe explained that he only needed to recover the paperwork from the safe in the residence. The Guild wasn't interested in stealing the property, but only having a look at the documents. For that matter, Mazhe suggested, simply duplicate the documents.

That much, Harry could do. He cast a strong warming charm on himself, for even though the sun was pretty strong at this time of year, the lakes, streams, and rivers in Skyrim were always ice cold, with their sources all high in the mountains. He then stuck the re breather in his mouth, and stepped into the frigid water. All of the items on his person had been spelled to be waterproof, and so the only thing that actually got wet was his armour.

The swim was relatively fast, and given he was able to swim close to the bottom, he came up undetected, and crawled ashore. After spelling himself dry, he then pulled out his invisibility cloak, and threw it over himself. He vanished. Seconds later, if anyone could see the front door to the house, they would have seen it open of its own accord, only to close a few moments later.

Inside, the now invisible wizard crept silently along several corridors, right past three unsuspecting mercenaries. He knew that if they spotted him, it would be a fight to the death, and Harry certainly wouldn't hesitate. Mercenaries, bandits, thugs, they were all lumped together in the same boat in his book. Only useful with an arrow or an ice spike shoved through their eye socket.

He arrived at a cage with a door on the other side leading somewhere—he guessed the basement. No surprise, the cage was locked. He would come back to that after, since as he turned, he caught a glimpse of a staircase going up.

The top floor of the building turned out to contain the master bedroom, in which lay the estate's owner, still sound asleep. Harry quickly erected several silencing charms, so not to alert the mercenaries in the rest of the house, then lowered the hood of his cloak—the idea was to actually talk to Aringoth, right? Now that he knew he could take his time, he glanced around the room, looking for possible hiding places for keys, or the safe itself.

He was startled when the owner woke up suddenly.

“Never should have come here,” Aringoth spoke, menacingly, and Harry was forced to duck, as the Altmer(6) flung a shiny object directly at his head.

“ _Stupefy_!” Harry hissed, arm flung out at the angry Altmer. He flopped back onto the bed, stunned. Harry's eyes flicked to the object Aringoth had tried to attack him with. It was in the shape of a bee, about the size of a Quaffle, and likely made of solid gold.

“I'll be taking this,” Harry muttered, collecting the small statue, and shoving it in his satchel.

When Aringoth regained consciousness, he found an angry young man with dark hair and emerald green eyes sitting on him, glaring at him. Several drops of a clear liquid were dripped into his mouth.

“We'll wait a few moments for that to get to work, then I got a few nice questions for you,” the assailant smirked.

Already, Aringoth could feel his mind falling into a calm state, as though he should trust this person explicitly, and answer all his questions with complete honesty.

The stranger smiled again. “Where's the safe?”

“In the basement,” Aringoth found himself answering obediently. 'What sort of magic was this?!' He protested in his head.

“Who bought the estate from you?”

“I... don't know. It was an Argonian who paid me for it.”

“Great. You've been somewhat helpful.” The stranger reached into his pocket, and for a second, Aringoth believed he might breath his last. His fear did not subside as the stranger drew out another vial.

“Antidote. Only need to place a couple of drops. Open.” The stranger commanded. He did so, and the stranger let three cloudy drops fall on his tongue. It might as well have been water, there was no taste.

“Lie to me. Are you a Bosmer?”

“Yes,” Aringoth answered, still unsure of what was about to happen. Compliance might let him see another dawn, and so he did so.

“Excellent. Now. Can't have you remembering who I am...” the stranger hopped off the bed, and in one motion, threw some sort of cloak over himself, and literally vanished.

“One last thing,” came a disembodied voice, “ _OBLIVIATE_!”

In his haze, Aringoth saw the door to his room open, then close moments later on its own.

Back on the main floor, standing in front of the cage, Harry pointed a finger at the lock. “ _Alohomora_.”

_Click_. He was in within seconds, down the stairs, and across the room below. Down another set of stairs, along a short hall, he arrived in another small room. In one corner stood the safe in question. Another unlocking charm had the door open, and he fished out the stack of parchments. He quickly made copies, then stashed the originals back in the safe. There was a great pile of money there, but he wouldn't touch it. This was about the documents, and the documents only, taking the bee statue had been a consequence to Aringoth's attack, and it would be the only thing he would be stealing this day. Pocketing the duplicated documents, he gave a slight twist, and popped away.

He landed outside, in front of the main doors to the house—the same spot from which he'd entered. Still with his cloak hiding him from view, he took off across the island, to see how Mazhe was doing. From the smoke, he'd already set fire to two of the hives.

Unfortunately, the mercenaries had taken notice, and were closing on his position. A diversion, then. He gave another twist, and popped away with a noisy _CRACK_.

“Who's there?” a nearby mercenary shouted, turning about. Three of his partners followed suit, looking for the source of the noise. There came another noisy _crack_ from just across the bridge linking the main island with the one containing the bee hives. Mazhe had just set fire to the third hive.

_Crack_. Harry landed a few feet from his friend.

“Done?”

“Gods, Harry... where are you?” Mazhe asked. He felt a hand grip him on the shoulder. “Yeah. Done.”

“Hold on then.” The pair of them popped away with another noisy _crack_.

They landed in a small alcove just inside the Cistern.

“We need to find Brynjolf.”

“The Flagon, then,” Harry guessed, to which Mazhe gave a nod, and pushed open the door which led into the pub.

As expected, Brynjolf was seated at one of the tables with Delvin. Harry grinned and placed the duplicated documents on the table.

“This is what I found in the safe. It's a copy, and as far as Aringoth is concerned, he won't remember I was there.”

Brynjolf set down his tankard, and picked up the stack of parchment.

“Did you have a look?”

“No. None of this would make any sense to me, really,” Harry answered, with a shrug. “Of course, he wasn't exactly happy when he found me in his bedroom. Tried to brain me with this...” Harry reached into his satchel, and pulled out the golden statue. “This worth anything, Delvin?”

“Well, well. I was looking for this little beauty,” the Breton answered, looking quite pleased, as Harry handed the object over, “Always looking for unusual trinkets like this.” Delvin reached into one of the many pouches on his armour, and pulled out a bag of coins. “I think this should be more than fair.”

“Thank you.” Harry stowed the coin bag away.

Brynjolf, meanwhile, made a face. “Aringoth sold Goldenglow? What was that idiot thinking? He has no idea the extent of Maven's fury when she's been cut out of a deal, but I'm certain he'll find out... If only this parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol. Any idea what that might be?”

“Sorry. Aringoth did mention it was an Argonian who brokered the deal, but nothing else.” Harry peered over Brynjolf's shoulder to see the odd symbol he was looking at. It was simply a dagger with a black spot behind it.

“Blast. I'll check with my sources and talk to Mercer. Well done, lads.” He indicated two coin bags on the table in front of him. “Your pay.”

“Thanks, 'bryn,” Mazhe grinned, collecting one of them, while Harry collected the other.

Mazhe thought for a moment. “Uh, Harry. Might want to let Tommy out.”

“Right.”

It was after dinner before they reappeared outside the chest. Given the early-morning wake-up and so on, the normal morning routine had been tossed out the window. Tommy, naturally, made sure they got caught up. Maintaining a beefy frame was no small amount of work.

The evening found Harry parked at a table, casually observing the Marauders' Map, a tankard of mead off to one side. There were very few reasons Harry wished to be at Hogwarts, but he did miss his friends. Did they know what happened yesterday? Would they be angry at him for just—running away? Was he running away? What was he really doing here?

“'s a shame that map can't watch more interesting locations.” Harry looked up to see Delvin watching over his shoulder.

“Very true. Right now it just gives me a bit of comfort to know my friends are still well—though probably not all that happy with me.”

“If they're good friends, they'll understand.”

“I hope so.”

Harry thought for a moment, then scowled a moment, seeing Dumbledore's dot appear. How was it the man could just appear anywhere? It was impossible to Apparate within the school, right?

“My godfather left a stack of parchments and journals when he... when he died in April—Rain's Hand, I mean. I'm still looking through all that stuff, but likely there'll be something about the map in there. And Remus did help make it. So we might be able to come up with something more useful.”

“Bein' able to case a place, know who's about, before we risk life and limb. Would be a great benefit.”

“Even better if it would work on Draugr and ghosts—though this works on ghosts...”

Harry tapped the map. “Show me Sir Nicholas.”

The map seemed to flip itself around, as the image shifted to a location near the Gryffindor dormitory. The ghost's dot was indicated a little heavier than the throng of students in and about the area.

“He's a ghost tied to Gryffindor. He's haunted the school for over five hundred years.”

* * *

_3 Last Seed, 4E201_

Well over a month had passed since Harry and Tommy cut themselves off from the Commonwealth and everyone else back on Earth. There had been not a single peep from anyone, and some part of him was disappointed. Just a small part, though. The sting of betrayal had only barely begun to fade.

Three days prior had been a day filled with lots of food, drink, and merriment, considering it had been Harry's sixteenth birthday. Remus had once again paid a lovely young lady to see to Tommy's nieces, and so was able to attend the party. The Ragged Flagon had pretty much become Harry's home at this point—he'd set up his chest in a spot out of the way and spent most of his nights there. Given things were made to be more than comfortable, Tommy spent his nights there as well. After all, it had been set up somewhat like a flat.

To the present, Mazhe, Harry, and Tommy were just cleaning up after their morning workout.

“Still no word on that strange symbol we found at Goldenglow?” Harry wondered, as he got changed.

“No, nothing. Mercer's still looking into it I guess,” Mazhe answered, with a shrug. “As Brynjolf suspected, Maven's in a right fury about it though. Aringoth's lucky he's still breathing. Though knowing how she works, he'll wish he's dead by the time she's finished.”

“You guys know she's a bitch, right?” Tommy threw in.

“Don't let the guys in the Guild hear you say that, but yeah, pretty much. We put up with her 'cause she's the reason the Guild's stayed afloat this long.”

“If we can grow our influence a bit more, maybe we can get rid of her. The Guild needs to be able to stand on its own, not have some old crow as a crutch. She reminds me of Umbridge for some reason.”

“Ouch. Bad visual, Harry.”

_Pop_. Harry produced his wand and readied an ice-spike, startled by the arrival. He relented, realizing who it was.

“Dobby?! Gods...”

“Dobby is happy to see Harry and his friends well!” the elf exclaimed. He then hesitated a moment, considering things very carefully before he proceeded.

“Uh, Dobby?”

“Dobby is wondering how to begin... Dobby knows Harry Potter sir is feeling terribly betrayed, but Dobby is being asked to deliver you a package. But Harry Potter sir must promise to see its contents first before—“

“Who sent you?” Tommy practically demanded.

“Justin is being terribly upset at what has happened, he be swearing up and down that he is being ready to quit the government. Justin is wanting his friend back, Harry Potter sir.”

Harry blew out a breath. “I... let me see the package.”

Dobby snapped his fingers, and a medium-sized package appeared on the table they were using. Opening it up, he found an odd-looking device that somewhat resembled their mobile phones, as well as several letters. The first one was from Justin.

 

_Harry,_

_I know apologizing for what's happened won't ever make it right, but do know, I am truly sorry. We are all human, we all make mistakes. I hope you can keep that in mind, as you deal with the unfortunate reality we have put you in. Know that the Government of Valicadia absolutely did not sanction the action which put us all into such grave danger nearly two years ago._

_As it stands, we believe it to be the work of a terrorist organization who managed to subjugate members of the S.O.U. into doing their bidding. As to how that happened, the government is still investigating. We'll learn the truth, to both prevent it from happening again, and to give you and Tommy a bit of closure in that respect._

_Your friends back at Hogwarts are aware of what happened, and all of them are more than supportive of you, no matter what you choose to do. They were more than vocal about the situation, and I can tell you, miss Granger's hexes are rather painful. They've all included letters, and they all express hopes you'll stay in contact, now that you have a way in which to do so. And I guess I'm kind of hoping you'll keep me in the loop as well. I'm your friend too, Harry. I'll quit my job if that's what it takes._

 

_I hope you're well, and do stay safe,_

_Justin_

 

Part of Harry wanted to shred the letter into tiny pieces, while another... was sincerely touched by his words. It was the latter which won out, and he simply passed the letter over to Tommy, while he read the others. Hermione, Ron, the twins, Ginny, and even Neville had sent letters, all of them expressing sorrow and support, much as Justin had mentioned.

There were two additional letters included in the pile, one of which bore the seal of the Ministry of Education. He had a good idea of what this one might be.

“Mazhe? Harry?” Came Delvin's voice, from the corner where the lid access was.

“Err... we're on our way, just, something's come up,” Harry answered.

“Take the time you need.”

“Great.” Harry turned his attention back to the letter. He broke the seal, and pulled the paper from the envelope.

 

_Government of Valicadia, Ministry of Education_

_Examinations Division_

_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

_Pass Grades:_

_Outstanding (O)_

_Exceeds Expectations (E)_

_Acceptable (A)_

 

_Fail Grades:_

_Poor (P)_

_Dreadful (D)_

_Troll (T)_

 

_HARRY JAMES POTTER HAS ACHIEVED:_

_Astronomy: A_

_Care of Magical Creatures: E_

_Charms: E_

_Defence against the Dark Arts: O_

_Ancient Runes: E_

_Herbology: E_

_History of Magic: A_

_Potions: E_

_Transfiguration: E_

 

“What is it?” Tommy asked.

“My O.W.L. Scores.”

“How'd you do?” Mazhe asked.

“Passed everything. Astronomy and History of Magic were a little low, but, I got by. I mean, we did have a ghost for a teacher in History. Even with the extra self-study, and Remus' help, it didn't help a whole lot.”

“Won't mean much though, right?” Tommy pointed out, “You being 'you' and all...”

“I'd rather earn a job, rather than have it handed to me. Though, given I'll likely not be returning to Earth permanently, these won't mean a whole lot anyway. I guess I'm happy with what I received, all considering.”

Harry folded the paper and stuffed it back in its envelope, then put it back in the box with the odd instrument. He left the final note on the top.

“Dobby. Do you mind sticking around? I'd rather you not be somehow coerced into working against us.”

“Dobby is pleased to help out, Harry Potter sir.”

“Perfect. In fact, I have a few friends you've seen already who might like to have some help cleaning.”

To Dobby, it once again looked like Christmas-come-early.

* * *

_10 Last Seed, 4E201_

A week had passed since Dobby had shown up. The Ragged Flagon was by this point unrecognizable. The excitable house elf had become a blur of activity, as the place was cleaned from top to bottom. To a stranger seeing it for the first time, the place no longer resembled a sewer, even if the architecture said otherwise. Every surface had been cleaned to nearly a shine—and those surfaces that were supposed to shine—they did. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling had all been replaced, and now the place was lit by dozens of ever-burn candles, replacing the dim lights with a warm cheery glow. The rotten woodwork prominent throughout the space had been either repaired or replaced, as had a lot of the furniture. It was an extreme makeover.

“Any chance we can have him fix the Cistern?” Delvin wondered aloud.

“Ask him. He likes the work,” Harry answered, with a shrug. They'd just come back from the morning training session. Given the advanced capabilities of the Virtual Projection Room in Harry's chest, Delvin had it conjure up some live targets in the interest of teaching.

“You sure he wouldn't mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Mind what?” Mazhe asked. He'd just come in from the Cistern.

“Delvin's wondering if we could ask Dobby to clean up the Cistern.”

“Mercer might have a fit though.”

“Let me deal with Mercer,” said Delvin, “Mazhe. Got two errands for 'ya. One's in Markarth, the other's in Solitude. Ain't that right, Vex?”

“If he's up for it, why not?” Vex muttered from her spot at the bar.

“Sure. The targets?”

“Vex?” Delvin prompted.

“A client's uncle lost a family heirloom in a gambling match and they're paying us to get it back. So much for fair play, huh?”

Mazhe grinned and let out a chuckle. “What's it look like?”

“It's a gold jewelled amulet, with a stamina fortifying enchantment on it,” Vex answered, glancing at a parchment in front of her, “It was sold to the Bits and Pieces, a general shop in Solitude.”

“Mine involves a bit 'o writin' in Markarth,” said Delvin, glancing at his own set of parchments, “I need you to make corrections to the business ledger in Arnleif & Sons Trading Company.”

“It'll take me a couple of days,” said Mazhe, holding out a hand for the parchment.

“Keep your mobile on so we can keep in touch,” said Harry, while Delvin passed over the parchment. Mazhe knew it would contain the details on what needed to be changed and why. He then collected the parchment from Vex, and was gone through the back hallway which led into the Cistern.

“Harry. 'meantime, I need you to run a package to Filnjar, the blacksmith in Shor's Stone,” said Delvin, gesturing to a shoebox-sized package sitting on the table in front of him.

“I won't ask what's in it,” Harry grinned.

“No, better you don't.”

“Shor's Stone... that small mining settlement north of Fort Greenwall ain't it?” asked Tommy.

“That would be the place,” Harry answered, “Coming?”

* * *

_16 Last Seed, 4E201_

Mid-afternoon found Harry and Tommy speaking to an elderly Khajiit merchant just outside the gates of Whiterun. It was a well-known, unspoken rule that the cat-like humanoids were not allowed inside of the major cities (although it irritated Harry—racism at its finest and all that).

“You approach us as if you know us, stranger. How can I help you?”

“Are you Ri'saad?”

“Yes,” Ri'saad answered, leaning forward. He had long greying hair, and from what parts of his body were not covered by clothing, he was mostly a dark grey colour with some tan markings. He spoke with a heavy, strange accent.

“Tonilia sent me to speak to you about setting up some sort of agreement.”

“Yes, I've heard the Thieves Guild is rising back to power. An alliance would be beneficial to both parties. I'll consider the offer, but I'll have to discuss it with the other caravans.”

Harry reached into his satchel, and pulled out a small bag. “Tonilia also asked me to give you this.”

“Ah, moon sugar,” said Ri'saad, looking suddenly very pleased, “I am pleased with this offer, and we accept.” He took the small bag. “Tell the leaders of your guild we look forward to a prosperous and profitable future.” He paused, then said, “If you happen upon any of our caravans in your travels, we'd also be more than willing to pay you a fair sum for any of your stolen goods.”

“I'll be sure to let them know. Thank you Mr., err... Ri'saad,” Harry grinned, with a nod of the head. The gesture was easily returned, along with a warm smile.

Instead of immediately returning to Riften, the group headed into the city proper, and up to Dragonsreach.

“Farengar,” Harry greeted, as he stepped into the court-wizard's work area.

“Ah, Harry. What brings you in for a visit?”

“Had some, uh, other business here in Whiterun. How goes your research into the _dovah_?”

“Well... funny you should ask,” said Farengar, indicating a hooded figure who appeared to be engrossed in a map laid out on the desk. “Delphine, may I introduce a friend?”

“Oh.” The woman, Harry realized, looked up from the map she was studying. He couldn't very well make out her features due to the hood.

“This is Harry, and...”

“Tommy.”

“Right, yes. Harry here has been studying some of the dragon language since he arrived here ten years ago,” Farengar explained.

“I see,” said Delphine. “Not from around here?”

“No, ma'am,” Harry answered politely, “But this world is better than mine.”

Delphine furrowed her brow. “Not from this world?”

“It's a long story,” Harry grinned.

“Right. As we've been reviewing for the past few hours, an important piece to our research may be hidden in Bleak Falls Barrow,” said Farengar, “It's a ruin just south of Whiterun.”

“I know it,” said Harry, “Riverwood's in its shadow. What would we be looking for?”

“A 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites,” Delphine interjected, “Have you done this sort of thing before?”

“Labyrinthian mean anything to you?” Tommy asked, scowling.

“Gods...”

Harry had great difficulty resisting the urge to smirk. The sprawling Nordic ruin had a notorious history, as he'd found out, doing research in the months he'd been back in Skyrim. Most people knew better than to tread close to it, with the undead who called it home. It's reputation was well and painfully earned.

“We're doing this then?” Tommy asked.

“Better than doing--”

“Right. Tell us what we need to know.”

“The stone is likely interred in the main chamber. I need not warn you of what you will likely find inside, given your prior experience. But this is something that could benefit us greatly in our research,” said Farengar.

“ _Tempus_ ,” Harry muttered, gesturing with a finger. '6:48 p' wafted from his fingertip. “We'll set out in the morning, give us the day to see to it.”

“You're a mage,” said Delphine, surprised.

“Been learning since I was seven,” Harry answered.

“I would've taken you for a warrior.”

“Looks can be deceptive, don't you agree?”

“Harry and friends, good to see you again.” Harry turned around to find the Jarl and his brother framing the broad doorway.

“Good to see you as well, sir.”

“It is getting on in the day, won't you come join us?”

“I'd be honoured. Uh, miss... Delphine... we'll be back hopefully tomorrow evening, is that suitable?”

“Just hurry back with the stone.”

“I'll do my best.”

Dinner with the Jarl and his court always proved to be a rather noisy affair. It certainly wasn't the first time Harry found himself in their company, although perhaps one of the few in which Mazhe wasn't there also.

“Tell me,” Balgruuf asked, “Where is your older friend these days?”

“Off, uh, on a different assignment, sir,” Harry answered. “Just like us. We had something to deliver.”

“So I see.”

“And what sort of business might that be?” asked the steward, from a few places down.

“Likely not the sort that should be discussed here, sir,” Harry answered, coolly. That earned a frown from the steward.

“If you're interested in earning a few Septims, perhaps you might consider joining us then,” said a burly Nord with a rough voice, from a few spaces even further down the table.

“Friends, this is Farkas, and Vignar Gray-mane, of the Companions,” Balgruuf introduced. “Likewise, Harry, and... Tom, if I remember correctly?”

“Yeah,” Tommy muttered.

“What sort of things do you guys do?” Harry asked.

“Not heard of the Companions, eh?”

“No sir,” Harry answered.

“Sir... Gods, you're makin' me feel old,” Farkas muttered.

He had a rough face with dark markings around his eyes, stringy black hair that fell to his shoulders, and thin facial hair that didn't quite qualify as a beard. A large broadsword was secured to his back, and he wore a set of common steel armour.

Vignar, on the other hand, had to be the oldest person at the table. He had brown skin, and a face creased many times over with the passage of time. He had a bushy moustache which was grey to match his hair, and his hair had been braided in several bunches.

“No offense meant, sir.”

“What kind of things do the Companions do?” Tommy asked.

“We're an order of warriors,” Vignar answered, “We are brothers and sisters in honour, and we show up to solve problems, if the coin is good enough.”

“I wouldn't be happy with you guys. I have enough to fight as it is,” answered Harry, “Fighting as a career? Not for me, thanks.”

“An honest answer. Not everyone answers the call of the blade,” said Vignar. That had a few around the table nodding along.

* * *

_17 Last Seed, 4E201_

The following morning arrived all too soon. Given their assignment was in Whiterun, they'd given Ri'saad a bag of coins for permission to set up the trunk near their campsite. The Khajiit were more than accommodating, and so it was just after 7 am that Harry and Tommy emerged from it. The day had dawned bright and warm, with not a single cloud overhead.

“Harry, check that out,” said Tommy, pointing to something in the sky, making a track to the northeast. The object was dark, and if Harry guessed, it was too big to be an eagle.

“Odd. Definitely not an eagle, or a hawk.” He mentally went through the list of animals in Skyrim who could fly. None of them matched what he was seeing, as the object grew smaller. Whatever it was, it was incredibly fast.

“What if--” Tommy's question was cut off by the ringing of Harry's mobile. He un-clipped it, opened it up, and pressed the button to complete the connection. “Mazhe?”

“ _Harry?! Thank Talos._ ” Mazhe sounded in a panic, out of breath. “ _You... you guys come meet me at the sawmill in Riverwood immediately!_ ” He didn't wait for an answer, and the connection was closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Mazhe discovers something about himself during a battle with a creature long-believed extinct in Tamriel; Justin is reunited with the group due to the circumstances; and a trek to a ruin in the western part of the province in search of an ancient artefact has Mazhe fuming._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: It was going to happen eventually. The truth always comes out, and although the government certainly wanted to try and keep a lid on things, events happened far too quickly for them to get any sort of control on it. Now, we start more important events of the Skyrim time line, specifically the main quest, if the final date in this chapter is clue enough._   
> _(1) “Unslaad Tahrodiis!”: Unending/eternal Treachery_   
> _(2) “Nust fen ni meyz het.”: They will not come here._   
> _(3) “Meyye! Tahrodiis!” Fools! Treachery!_   
> _(4) “Nok. Nax. Vul Tahrodiis.”: Lies. Cruelty. Dark Treachery_   
> _(6) Although the Guild members all refer to Aringoth as a Bosmer, he is actually an Altmer. This can be confirmed in the Creation Kit, a tool used to build mods for Skyrim._


	22. Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mazhe discovers something about himself during a battle with a creature long-believed extinct in Tamriel; Justin is reunited with the group due to the circumstances; and a trek to a ruin in the western part of the province in search of an ancient artefact has Mazhe fuming._

**22: DRAGONBORN**

**17 - 18 Last Seed, 4E201**

* * *

They arrived with a noisy _crack_ within spitting distance of the sawmill in Riverwood, a small village directly south of Whiterun. There were only a couple of merchants, a few houses, and a single inn, a rather quiet life for those wishing for that sort of thing.

“Harry! Gods...” Mazhe exclaimed, embracing his younger friend tightly—and for a moment, Harry thought Mazhe was going to kiss him! He looked of fright, now wearing the armour of the Stormcloaks, instead of his Guild armour. He was covered in numerous scratches and cuts, and Harry could guess he'd not seen much sleep recently.

“What happened to you?” Tommy dared ask.

“Bad things, Tommy. Very bad things,” Mazhe answered, as he and Harry separated. “First. A new friend. This is Ralof. Ralof, my friends Harry and Tommy.”

The stranger at his side was dressed in identical armour. He was an average-sized but muscular Nord with dirty blond hair.

“Aye. Welcome, friends,” he answered, gruffly.

“So what happened? Err... here.” Harry pulled out a few healing potions from his satchel and handed them over.

“Thanks.” Both men were more than appreciative.

Mazhe began, “I was returning to Riften from my... assignment. You guys know where Darkwater Crossing is?”

“North of Shor's Stone isn't it?” Harry remembered.

“I'd just started up the road when the woods came alive with Imperial soldiers. Took one look at my armour and that was it.”

He rubbed the back of his head.

“Bastards whacked me over the head, an' next thing I know, I'm stuffed on the back of a wagon with Ralof here, a horse thief from Rorikstead, an' four others, including Ulfric.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “They captured Ulfric Stormcloak?”

“Yeah. My thoughts exactly. You guys know I have no love for the Empire, and after this?” Mazhe let out a huff. “After this, the lot of them are enemy number one. 'Course now we have much bigger fish to fry.

“We were on the road for two days. They brought us all—about four wagon loads—up to a little hamlet called Helgen. That was about two hours ago.”

“They had us all lined up for the chopping block, and were ready to start chopping,” Ralof picked up, “I thought we were done for... but then a _dragon_ attacked! Hardly believed it, and I was there!”

“Shor's balls,” Harry cursed, “I saw it fly east of here. Wondered what it was. We were camped overnight just outside the gates to Whiterun with a Khajiit caravan.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Where's Jarl Ulfric now?”

“Haven't seen him since we escaped up through one of the towers at the fort.”

“Don't worry about Ulfric, it'll take more than a dragon to finish him, friend,” said Ralof, confidently. “You support us then?”

“Not directly, but whatever Mazhe decides to do, I support him.”

“Oh. I see.” Ralof frowned, but continued, “We were driven into the keep, where we were able to escape from the dragon.”

“Why didn't you call us, Mazhe?” Tommy asked.

“Couldn't,” Mazhe answered, only now taking the time to rip the remains of the bindings off his wrists, “This... was most humiliating.”

Both Harry and Tommy understood at once. Being bound, there wouldn't have been any way to get to his mobile, and landing in an unfamiliar location, there wouldn't have been any way for them to help him anyway. It was only once he was in a familiar location that he was able to call for help.

Mazhe flipped his hair out of his face. “Ralof's sister here asked us to go speak to Jarl Balgruuf, let him know what's happening. There aren't any guards here, so Riverwood's exposed. If the dragon comes back...”

“Right.” Tommy understood at once.

“Can't be going there looking like this though. Harry, you have your chest with you right?”

“'Course.” Harry reached into his satchel and pulled out his chest, then set it on the ground. A tap with a finger restored it to its rightful size.

“You can find me again at my sister's place, you're all quite welcome there,” said Ralof, “Talos guide you.”

“And you,” Mazhe answered.

They waited until Ralof was out of hearing before Harry opened the lid. Once inside, Mazhe wasted no time stripping out of the armour he was wearing, and pulling out a change of clothes.

“Vex's gonna be disappointed... don't generally fail assignments,” he muttered, as he changed. Knowing he was going to speak to the Jarl, he wore something half-decent. “Gods... gonna have to purchase a new set of armour from Tonilia. No clue what the Legion did with it and all that—likely burned it. The bastards emptied my satchel... got no coin left...”

“You're still in one piece, that's all that matters,” said Harry.

Mazhe let out a huff, but finished dressing. “Gods... much as I'd like to get some sleep, this can't wait. Harry, you mind Apparating us up to Dragonsreach?”

The meeting with the Jarl was a short one. Surprisingly, Balgruuf was already aware of the dragon—he'd been involved in a rather heated argument with his brother, his housecarl, and his steward when the trio entered the vast hall. Mazhe had received a small reward for his assistance, and quickly sent on their way to Bleak Falls Barrow, this time with a little more urgency.(1)

None of them were the least bit surprised to find a group of bandits camped out around the entrance to the Nordic ruin several hours later. Careful observation revealed six enemies, half of them armed with bows. Two were up near the enormous entrance, two were out on the towers extending from the sides of the main stairs, a single target was down at the bottom of the stairs, while the last seemed to be asleep, resting against one of the enormous pillars, knees drawn up to her chest.

“Tommy, hang back a bit,” said Mazhe, “Harry, got your cloak?”

“Always,” Harry answered with a smirk, and digging in his satchel. He draped it over his shoulders.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Take the lower targets, I'll take the three near the entrance,” Harry decided.

“Good plan. Tommy, they catch onto what's going on, back us up.”

“Yeah, of course.” Tommy had already retrieved a modified M39 Enhanced Marksman Rifle from his own kit. As angry as he was at the Commonwealth, he still had all the equipment they'd given him. After all, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. The rifle was magically enhanced to be completely silent, require zero maintenance, and produce ammunition on the fly.

“Gods...” Mazhe had not seen Tommy use this particular weapon before.

“If I can take the shot I will.”

“But we--”

“I'll be able to see you,” Tommy answered, “Scope's infrared.”

“Our bodies give off heat,” Harry clarified, “C'mon, let's do this.”

The entire assault took under a minute. Before the bandits knew what was going on, two of them had been felled, one of them now missing the back of his head. The one who had been resting began to stand, only to find a blade of ebony shoved through her side. She collapsed in a heap, as the deadly poison added to the massive internal wound Mazhe's blade inflicted.

“Oblivion take you,” Mazhe hissed, wiping the blood off his blade.

Passing through the enormous doors, they found themselves in an equally enormous room supported by numerous pillars. They could easily hear voices at the far end—Tommy quickly picked out at least three individuals. There had been more, but they lay dead close to the entrance, the victim of nasty slashes across their bodies. The remaining trio were quickly silenced, and both Mazhe and Harry collected anything useful from the dead and the large chest which rested nearby.

“Shor's balls, really hope this place isn't filled with bandits.”

“Rather bandits than Draugr, Harry,” Mazhe answered, “They're somewhat more predictable.”

“So are Draugr,” Harry argued, “C'mon, let's keep moving.”

Typical of so many Nordic ruins, the corridors never ran very long in a straight line, leading off in twists and turns, with many branching corridors being blocked from collapse or debris. Even now, Harry was always impressed with how the old ruins were still dimly lit, even after centuries lying dormant. He chalked it up to magic—after all, why not, considering what magic could truly do.

Then—

“Is... is someone coming?”

The accent made the speaker to be a Dunmer. Everyone remained quiet, quickly applying appropriate stealth equipment.

“Is that you, Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?” the voice cried out again.

Creeping into a larger chamber, they found it filled with spider webs, the tell-tale sign there were frostbite spiders lurking about. Given it was just one person, they revealed themselves.

“You there! Yes! Get me down,” the victim called out.

The Dark Elf had become entangled in a web stretched across one of the exits at the opposite end of the chamber.

“Wait,” Mazhe warned, glancing around carefully.

“Look up,” said Tommy, gesturing to the ceiling. Sure enough, there was most definitely a spider lurking, suspended in the shaft vanishing up out of sight. It would have been a nasty surprise, had anyone actually attempted to cross the room.

“Want the honours?”

“Got it.” Tommy switched his sniper rifle for something that packed a little more punch, in this case a riot shotgun. Modified like the rest of the weapons he carried, it featured an inexhaustible ammo supply, a silencing charm, and a charm which kept it from requiring servicing. Tommy took aim, pressed the trigger, and the only indication the weapon had ever been fired, was the awful squeaky death throes the creature went into, as it plummeted to the chamber's floor.

“Is it dead? Gods... quickly now, get me down!” the elf pleaded.

Harry obliged, producing one of his daggers, and proceeding to cut through the web. The stuff was rather strong, although all considering the size of the arachnid which spun it, it should be no surprise, really. A few cuts, and the Dunmer was freed. He scrambled to his feet, allowing a nasty smirk to cross his face.

“Fools, why should I share the treasure with anyone?!” He bolted down the newly opened corridor.

“So much for being a good Samaritan,” Harry muttered, as the three of them took off after the man.

It was Harry and his friends who had the last laugh, though, as they entered another chamber, to find the elf laying in a pool of his own blood, slain by a rather strong Draugr. After dispatching it, Harry checked the corpse, to discover a rather-strangely shaped ornament. It somewhat resembled a dragon's claw.

“Damn, looks like solid gold,” Tommy guessed.

“We'll see if Tonilia can fence it,” Harry decided, as he slipped the claw into his satchel.

An hour later, after passing through what seemed like many winding corridors and chambers (including one which contained a locked gate with a pillar puzzle), they came to a door the likes of which none of them had encountered to this point. The door had three enormous disks on it, with what they assumed was a button at its centre. On the button was an etching of what looked like a dragon's claw.

“I wonder... Harry, let's see the claw we picked up earlier,” Mazhe suggested.

Harry pulled it out, and passed it over.

“Hmm...” Mazhe reached over and gave the large outer ring a push, then glanced at the claw again.

“What... how are you reading it?” Tommy asked.

“Look.” Mazhe turned the claw over, showing him the three pictures etched on the back of it. “The claw contains the solution.” He began moving the other rings until they matched the pattern on the claw. Once satisfied, he placed the dragon claw on the centre button, so the claws on the ornament matched the grooves.

The key easily pushed inward, and there was an ominous CLUNK as the key returned to its original state. All three rings spun around rapidly to show the same picture, and the door began to slide downward, a cloud of dust falling as it did so.

“We must be getting close.”

The chamber they stepped into was enormous, with an underground stream cutting through its centre, and waterfalls on either side. At the far end of it was a most curious monument of some sort, something none of them had seen before. It was nearly white, save for strange engravings and markings all over it, and as they drew closer, the bottom part of it, a curved section of wall had letters engraved in it that Harry was somewhat familiar with.

“The dragon language,” Harry whispered, “This is—Mazhe?”

Mazhe seemed to be in some sort of trance, and it was then Harry noticed, a group of letters were casting a blue glow, with a swirl of energy twisting and turning its way into the chest of his best friend. “Mazhe?!”

Harry went to grab his friend, but Tommy held him back, not sure of exactly what was going on. The glow finally faded, and Mazhe looked a little dazed for a moment.

“Mazhe?”

“It... it's all right, I'm fine.”

“What happened?”

“I... I'm not sure how to explain it, really. You know more about this language than I do. But... this word...” Mazhe indicated the word that had been lit up moments earlier—it still glowed slightly.

“ _Fus_... force,” said Harry.

“Force... exactly.”

“Isn't that what that Draugr used on me back in Saarthal?” Tommy recalled.

“One in the same I think. I feel a little weird though. C'mon, let's see if we can find that stone Farengar—”

Further conversation was interrupted by a crash as the lid to the single sarcophagus resting nearby burst open, and a particularly difficult Draugr sat up. It had a helmet with tall horns, matching the one Jyrik Gauldurson had wore.

“Oh _hell_ no,” Tommy swore, brandishing his shotgun, and pulling the trigger several times. Harry and Mazhe produced appropriate spells to back their friend up, but it was unnecessary. The shotgun had made rather short work of the undead, and it now lay slumped in the sarcophagus.

Harry reached in, and located the item they'd come in for, an oddly shaped tablet with a crude drawing etched on one side. Now safely deposited in his satchel, he side-Apparated his friends back to Dragonsreach.

* * *

Stepping into Farengar's domain, they found he was not alone. Delphine was back, and stood behind the desk with Farengar, speaking in low tones. They couldn't hear the conversation, but Harry cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Ah, you've returned from Bleak Falls Barrow,” Farengar stated.

“We found the stone,” said Harry, producing the item.

“You recovered the dragonstone?” said Delphine, “I'm impressed.”

“We all did,” Harry answered, “Is there anything else you need help with?”

“No, I think we'll have everything in hand—”

“Farengar!” It was Irileth, the Jarl's housecarl. “You must come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby.” She stepped into the work area, glancing sharply at Mazhe. “You should come too.”

They followed the dark elf up a flight of stairs, into the back part of the castle, an area set up like a war room, with an enormous map of the province laid out on a nearby table. The Jarl was present, as was his brother, and several of the city's garrison.

“Tell the Jarl what you told me,” Irileth instructed, indicating the member of the city guard. He looked to be far beyond exhausted.

“Right. It came from the south, faster than anything I've seen before,” said the guard, still breathing heavily. “I ran as fast as I could, afraid my next step would be my last until I got to the city gate.”

“Where was it?” Balgruuf asked.

“The Western Watchtower, sir,” answered the guard.

“Very well done, soldier. Retire to the barracks for some food and some rest, we'll take it from here.” The Jarl turned to Mazhe. “Now is not the time to stand on ceremony, Mazhe, we need your help again.”

“What can we do?”

“You have more experience with dragons than the men do. I want you to go with Irileth, and help her fight this dragon.”

“I—we... of course,” Mazhe answered, glancing at his two friends. There was unspoken agreement between them.

“But I still haven't forgotten your service you did for me in retrieving the dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I've instructed Avenicci you are permitted to purchase property in the city. And please...” Balgruuf drew his axe from its holster, and held it out for Mazhe, “Accept this axe from my personal inventory.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Mazhe, with a bow of the head in respect as he accepted the offered weapon.

* * *

Arriving at the Western Watchtower with Irileth and a detachment of the city guard an hour later, they found it in shambles, with smoke and flames billowing from the upper part of the structure. The ground was scorched in many places, the choking smoke being near-blinding.

“No sign of any dragon, but it sure looks like he's been here,” Irileth muttered, then, “I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened, and if that dragon's still skulking around somewhere. _Spread out_ , look for survivors, we need to know what we're dealing with.”

Everyone drew weapons or produced spells, as the men followed Irileth's instructions. The area resembled a war zone, it was the best way to describe it. In some other lifetime, in some other world, someone Harry's age would have no business being put in such a scene. But that was neither here nor there, and as far as Harry was concerned, he was going to back up his best friend, no matter what.

The three of them arrived at the bottom of the steps leading up into the tower, when a frantic guard made a startling appearance in the doorway.

“No! Get back, it's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor were grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!” the panicked guard exclaimed.

“Guardsman! What happened here? Quickly now, where is this dragon?!” Irileth demanded.

“I don't know... Kynareth save us, here he comes again...”

Sure enough, a winged creature was flying in from the south, a black silhouette against the blue late afternoon sky. The sight made Harry feel a little weak in the knees. A legend... the prophecy... it was all coming to light, right before his eyes.

“Here he comes!” Irileth exclaimed, “Find cover, and make every arrow count!”

The dragon was virtually on top of them. The guardsman back at Dragonsreach hadn't been kidding about the creature's speed. It had taken all of ten seconds from the time it had been sighted until it bore down on top of them.

“ _Yol... TOOR SHUL_!!” It screamed, a bloom of deadly fire raining down across the landscape. One defender not quick enough to get out of the path of the inferno was set ablaze and badly burned.

_KAWHACK_! Harry's ice spike narrowly missed its wings, and the dragon let out an awful shriek, twisting about and flying around the opposite side of the tower. Tommy had found a spot of cover, and now set up his sniper rifle again—though it was questionable as to how much damage that would actually do against something as big as a dragon.

“Harry... blasting curse maybe,” Mazhe suggested. Harry nodded in agreement, producing his wand, as the dragon came back around.

“ _Zok morokei!_ More souls to feed my master's hunger,” the dragon spoke, making eye contact with Mazhe. It flapped its enormous wings, and settled down in front of them, unfazed by the arrows raining down on it.

It was, however, not expecting the powerful magical attack on the part of Harry.

“ _REDUCTO_!” came the powerful shout, and with it, a blast of red magic slammed into the dragon's chest, blasting a massive hole in the chest cavity. Rib cage, heart, lungs, part of the digestive tract, all of it rendered a bloody pulp by the particularly powerful cast.

“ _Dovahkiin_ , no!” the dragon shrieked, and slumped over, its head falling within feet of the pair.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, wiping the blood splatter off of his face.

“Gods, Harry,” said Mazhe, impressed. His younger friend had just killed a creature of legend with one spell.

“Uh, guys...” Tommy said, uneasily, pointing at the dragon's tail. It was beginning to glow, and actually burn, by the looks of it.

“Shit, get back! Everyone get back!” Harry shouted, and the lot of them quickly scrambled away from the carcass, which was beginning to burn all over. The guards equally took Harry's advice, and gave the burning remains a wide berth, unsure of exactly what was happening. And then... a twisting, swirling mass of energy connected the distance between the carcass and Mazhe, surrounding him in a soft red glow for several moments. Mazhe felt a surge of power burst into him; it was nearly intoxicating.

“Mazhe?”

“No... it's... it's fine,” Mazhe answered, looking weak in the knees, as the glow at last began to subside, “Shor's beard...”

Tommy was about to ask what had just happened, but a nearby guard answered the question for him, addressing Mazhe.

“I can't believe it. You're... _Dragonborn_...”

“Dragonborn?” Mazhe looked confused, momentarily forgetting what Harry had told him about the legend.

“In the very oldest tales, back from when there still were dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed the dragon's power?”

“I... I don't know what happened to me.”

“There's one way to find out. Try to _Shout_... that would prove it,” the guard answered, still awe-struck, “According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do.”

Most of the other guards had gathered around by this point, including a stoic-looking Irileth.

“Shout? But how?”

“Force. _Fus_. The word we found earlier. Think of it in your head, Mazhe.”

Remembering what he'd seen of the Draugr using it back in Saarthal, he concentrated on the word he'd learned that morning. Making sure he was facing a direction devoid of people so as not to hurt anyone, he took a breath, and focused.

“ _FUS_!”

Mazhe was startled by the power which rolled out of him by way of his voice. The brown scrub and dead grass was pushed along by the physical wave sent forth by the shout.

As the guards bickered amongst themselves, Harry, Mazhe, and Tommy began the trek back up to Dragonsreach. At Mazhe's insistence, they chose to walk back, rather than Apparate—he was still more than a little unsettled at what had just happened, and that mode of transportation was not really a great idea, at least from his standpoint.

“I guess now I know what you feel like sometimes, Harry,” said Mazhe, as they approached the stables. “The prophecy says I'll have to defeat Alduin. The harbinger of the end times.”

“You know I'll fight at your side, Mazhe. Nothing in the prophecy says you have to do it alone... just like mine.”

“And so will I,” Tommy promised, “You guys have been really cool with me, it's only fair I have your backs.”

“Just... guys... dragons... Shor's balls.”

It was then the air was filled with what sounded like a clap of thunder, and on the air, the faint call: “ _Do-vah-kiin_.”

“Gods... what was that?”

“Don't know. Let's just get back up to Dragonsreach and let the Jarl know what happened,” Harry prompted, “Maybe then we can get back to Riften.”

“Good plan. This is so unsettling,” said Mazhe, shaking his head.

“Dragonborn or not, you're still just Mazhe to me,” said Harry, slinging an arm around his best friend.

Silence fell between the three of them as they made their way up through the city proper and to the castle itself. It was clear the news of the attack had reached the city, as everyone around them seemed to be extra tense, weary and concerned. No kidding, considering the situation. The Jarl's words of earlier carried a lot of truth: old stone walls would do nothing against a dragon. Skyrim was a dangerous place as it was, and now, things just got exponentially worse.

As they spoke to the Jarl, Harry was still somewhat lost in a haze, realizing the place he had truly grown to love was under a terrible threat. Perhaps the best thing would be to get back to Riften, let Remus know what was going on. He needed to be aware so he wouldn't be caught off guard should a dragon actually show up there. And perhaps... maybe the Commonwealth should be made aware as well.

NO. The Commonwealth had no place in their lives now. Even well over a month later, the betrayal still hurt afresh; it would be a long time before he would forgive them, if ever.

“Harry?”

“Oh—err... sorry.” He'd been stuck in a daze since they stepped into the castle.

“Harry... uh, this... this is Lydia. The Jarl has assigned her as my housecarl,” Mazhe introduced.

“Housecarl... like Irileth,” Harry remembered, “Gods, I didn't hear a word of what was said back there. So that means then, you're coming with us?”

“If that is what my thane desires,” answered Lydia. She was a young adult Nord woman with an average frame, and dark hair. She was dressed in a set of steel armour, and a steel sword was secured in a scabbard strapped to her thigh.

“Actually, Remus might—maybe... if Harry agrees, maybe she could stay at Remus' place,” Tommy suggested.

“Harry has... family... just outside of Riften. We still need to ask, but if it's suitable, would you be okay with providing extra security there?”

“Of course,” Lydia answered, with a smile.

“Then I guess we're going back to Riften. Harry, you mind fashioning us a Port key? High Hrothgar can wait an hour or so.”

“Let's tackle that tomorrow,” Harry decided, “Remus will want a full explanation of what's going on, and I'd like to see a memory of what happened.”

“Right.”

* * *

Minutes later, the four of them arrived in a blur of limbs in the yard of a two-storey cottage, situated only a short distance from the city's east gate. Lydia looked quite disoriented from having travelled in such a manner, but she climbed back to her feet, focusing on what was around. It was clear she was a warrior, ready to charge into battle head-on.

Inside, they found Remus most occupied with two young children: Tommy's nieces.

“Remus,” Harry greeted.

“Harry.”

“Here, I'll take over,” Tommy offered.

“Something's happened?”

“You could say that,” Mazhe muttered, “May we take this into the office?”

“Oh. Of course.”

Remus cast a worried glance at Harry, but the group moved into the small office. The house was built in somewhat more modern style, rather than the open designs of local structures. There were four bedrooms, a study, a kitchen, a bathroom with modern amenities, and the lounge—which more resembled a play room at this point.

Once settled in the comfortable chairs, Mazhe introduced Lydia.

“And how did you earn such a title?” Remus asked, curiously.

“If you could fetch your pensive, and if someone could help me pull out a memory, I'll show you,” said Mazhe.

Remus fetched his clay pensieve from a cabinet, while Harry helped Mazhe to pull the appropriate memory. It was then placed in the bowl, and everyone stuck a finger in.

The gravity of the situation was not lost on anyone, witnessing the very graphic destruction of a small village just north of the border between Skyrim and Cyrodil. The dragon was enormous, larger than the one they'd just faced at the Western Watchtower, using not only its terrible fire breath, but its own body to reign down destruction on the mostly wooden structures which made up the settlement. At least twice, they witnessed the monster actually eating a soldier whole, and in another instance, a man was flung high into the air, and it was unclear as to exactly where he landed. It was a safe bet the poor man likely died from the fall, if not from the bites.

“Given the gravity of the situation, I think it would be more than suitable if Lydia remain here as an extra pair of eyes and hands,” Remus said, leaning back in his chair, “Equally, I would suggest you not wait to visit High Hrothgar, as much as you may like to rest. Perhaps take a few hours, but no more.”

“He's right, Harry. This can't wait. Let's Port key up to the monastery.”

“If that's what you want to do. I'd still like to drop by the Flagon, let people know what's going on.”

“And Harry. Though you may not trust the Commonwealth any more, Justin is a friend. I would suggest you get in touch with him—no, hear me out,” Remus persisted, seeing Harry about to protest, “As much as I would lend my wand here, Tommy's nieces do take a bit of priority. We need another wand here.”

“Harry, he's right,” said Mazhe, “I could likely get Onmund to come along, but really. We need another witch or wizard from your world.”

Harry let out a sigh.

“Fine. Dobby.”

Pop. “Harry Potter sir call for Dobby?”

“Yes. I need you to go back to the Commonwealth and collect Justin. We... need his help. To be clear, he's the only one we're inviting right now, I'm still beyond furious for what they've done to Tommy and I.”

Dobby gave an enthusiastic nod, and popped away.

It was nearly ten minutes later before Dobby returned, bringing a rather surprised young wizard.

“Harry,” Justin said, simply.

“We'll have a nice long chat in the near future,” Harry spoke, simply. “For now, we need an extra wand, and... as Moony has pointed out, you were... uh, I mean... are... a friend.”

“Something's happened?”

“You remember the stories about the dragons returning to Skyrim?”

“How can I not? Urag insisted on Tamriellic lore being included in Harry's history lessons. Why?”

Mazhe simply glanced upward at the ceiling.

“ _Fus_.”

The room actually shook, even though the focus had been on the ceiling. Justin arched an eyebrow.

“For real?”

“For real,” Harry said.

Justin shook his head. “Jesus, guys. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“Gods, my thoughts exactly,” said Mazhe, “The past two and a half days have been harrowing, to put it lightly. Alduin destroyed a small hamlet on the border between Skyrim and Cyrodil this morning.”

“The prophecy is in motion, then.”

“Come on, we'll fill you in further while we're walking back to the Guild.”

They travelled on foot back to the Ragged Flagon, where Mazhe also delivered the news of his failure. It was due to circumstances beyond his control, but it was still a failure.

“The important thing is, you're still in one piece. Situations get the better of us. If you're interested, I do have another assignment,” said Delvin.

“It's... everything here's gonna have to wait a bit,” answered Mazhe, “Gods, this is so messed up. Apparently I have to visit the Greybeards up on High Hrothgar. So likely I won't be taking any assignments for the next few days.”

“Do what'cha gotta do,” said Delvin, clearly understanding the situation.

* * *

By the time they had Port keyed up to the gates of the monastery, Justin had gotten a basic explanation of all that had transpired in the past couple of days. Not a word was said about Harry's ongoing anger toward the Commonwealth, and for now, Justin was only happy to leave that topic be. If anything the young wizard/scientist was overjoyed to be back with his first student and a dear friend.

The four of them stepped through the doors to the enormous monastery, into a large hall lit by a number torches. An individual was sitting in a meditative position at the opposite end, and didn't seem to notice their arrival.

“Err... hello?” Harry said, cautiously.

“So... a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age.”

Harry was not the only one startled by the seemingly sudden appearance of an ancient-looking man in hooded grey robes at the top of the stairs. He descended the stairs, and stopped in front of the group.

Mazhe gathered up his courage. “I... we... I'm answering your summons.”

“I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards.” He gave the group a pointed look. “Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?”

Still feeling very much on the spot, Mazhe answered, “I... you summoned me here, sir.”

Arngeir furrowed his brow a moment, but said, “First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice.”

“You want me to shout at you?”

“Mazhe...” Harry cautioned.

“You cannot hurt us,” Arngeir reassured, “Come, show us your voice.”

Mazhe was still uncomfortable with the idea of actually using a shout on someone, but if that was what the old man wanted, then so be.

“ _Fus_!”

Arngeir was staggered back and nearly toppled over by the potent force Mazhe had projected. Mazhe was alarmed, concerned he might have hurt the old man, but his fears were for nought, as Arngeir regained his balance, and gave a steep bow.

“ _Dragonborn_. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar.”

“You... I didn't hurt you, I hope.” Mazhe was still concerned.

“No, not at all.”

“My name is Mazhe. And... I... my friends, Harry, Justin, and Tommy.”

“ _Drem yol lok_ ,” said Harry, with a nod.

Arngeir was startled by the greeting which came from the dark-haired young man beside Mazhe.

“Ah. Well, welcome.” He gave Harry a pointed look. “You know the dragon tongue?”

“Bits and pieces.”

“He's been learning since he was seven or eight,” Mazhe supplied.

“To speak the ancient tongue is indeed a rare thing in these times.” Arngeir turned back to Mazhe. “And have you been learning the language?”

“Honestly, no. Harry knows far more than I do, sir.”

“Mazhe, remember back when we met Tommy... the word you used in Atlantic City...”

“ _Viik_ ,” Mazhe answered.

“Defeat,” said Arngeir, “Then you have used the _thu'um_ before.”

“ _Thu'um_... shout,” Harry translated.

It was then Arngeir remembered the incident so many months prior that had disturbed him as he lay down to rest. The ancient language, the shout, a faint offering in the wind. The question was, how competent would he be? Would he be up to the fate in store for him?

“You have shown you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift,” Arngeir intoned, “But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen.”

Arngeir indicated Mazhe step to the centre of a square decoration on the floor. “If the rest of you would please wait off to the side.” He indicated a bench to the opposite side of the hall.

“It's good, guys. I think we're safe here,” Mazhe reassured.

Harry, Tommy, and Justin followed the old man's instructions, as two more grey-robed individuals had arrived from other parts of the monastery, to join their counterparts. The third, who the the group had seen as they stepped into the stronghold, had now moved to one corner.

“Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your voice into a _thu'um_... a shout. Now let us see if you are willing, and able to learn.”

“I'll do my best, sir.” Mazhe was still not completely convinced of his place, but he would do his best.

“When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power,” Arngeir lectured, as he moved to the vacant position at a point on the floor. “All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger.”

He indicated the man in front of Mazhe. “Master Einarth will now teach you ' _Ro'_ , the second Word in Unrelenting Force.”

“ _Ro_ ,” Einarth whispered, although Mazhe could feel a pulse of energy be projected at the floor by the ancient man. A series of letters began to form on the floor, and they began to glow a fiery red colour.

“ _Ro_ means 'Balance _'_ in the dragon tongue. Combine it with _Fus_ \- 'Force' - to focus your _Thu'um_ more sharply.”

“ _Ro_ ,” Mazhe whispered, daring to step onto the glowing words. And, much like what had happened at the Word Wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, he could feel the single word imprinting itself within his mind. _Ro_ —balance.

Arngeir, meanwhile, looked impressed. He'd been a little more than skeptical when the ginger-haired young man had stepped into the monastery. He looked to be nary a boy let alone a man. Yet, he could shout—if only with one word, one of nearly two-dozen different shouts. With him learning the second word of a shout, it was more than clear this was no fluke, no prank. Mazhe was the real thing.

“Well done. You learn a new word like a master. But learning a word of power is only the first step. You must unlock its meaning through constant meditation an practice in order to use it in a Shout. At least, that's how the rest of us learn. Being Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly. As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro'.”

Exactly as had happened only hours prior, Mazhe felt a surge of energy wash over him, as a red arc of magical current connected him with the elderly man. Unlike that afternoon, however, the absorption didn't result in a death. Einarth gave a low bow as he pushed his knowledge forward on the stream of energy.

Mazhe stood quietly for a few moments, allowing the fuzzy feeling to subside, then gave a bow of the head. “Thank you.” That got a bow in return, although Einarth said nothing.

“Masters Einarth, Borri, and Wulfgar's voices are too strong for them to engage in ordinary conversation,” Arngeir explained, “Even a whisper could cause great harm, or even kill you.”

He then stepped back out of the square.

“Now. Let us see how quickly you learn. Masters Borri, Einarth, and Wulfgar will conjure up a targets for you. Use your Unrelenting Force shout to knock them back as they appear. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

Einarth stepped forward. “ _Fiik... LOH SAH!_ ”

A purple globe of energy appeared, the tell-tale sign of a conjuration, and out of it stepped a ghostly figure.

“ _Fus... RO_!” Mazhe shouted, sending a significantly more powerful, invisible shock wave at the apparition, causing it to vanish instantly.

“Well done. Again,” Arngeir indicated.

The exercise continued for well over an hour, as the Greybeards helped Mazhe to understand the power he now controlled. It then moved out to the courtyard. This time, Mazhe was taught a completely new shout called 'Whirlwind Sprint', which would allow him to cross a long distance with lightning speed. It meant another hour of practice, and it neared dinner time before they were finished.

“Your mastery of a new Thu'um is... astonishing,” said Arngeir, impressed, “I've heard of the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it myself?”

“Well... err... thanks,” said Mazhe, sheepishly. He was not all that comfortable with the praise, nor the spotlight. “I guess... what next?”

“You are now ready for your last trial. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Here, allow me to mark it on your map for you.”

Mazhe produced his small map, and Arngeir marked the location with a piece of charcoal .

“Remain true to the _Way of the Voice_ , and you will return.”

* * *

_18 Last Seed, 4E201_

This time, everyone was on the same page about waiting until morning. Therefore, after the morning exercise routine and subsequent calming exercises, the four of them took a Port key to Morthal, and hiked the rest of the way to the ruin. They arrived without a whole lot of difficulty, only to discover a rather active bandit camp practically on top of the entrance.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” one bandit sneered, readying his bow.

“Looks like we got ourselves a hero,” came another. It was followed by the tell-tale THWACK, as an arrow impaled a tree nearby.

“ _Fus... RO_!” Mazhe shouted, knocking the group of bandits back.

KAWHACK! Harry's ice spike neatly impaled the first, while Justin produced a shield to block another volley of magical attacks on the part of a mage in the bandits' ranks. Said mage suddenly collapsed like a bag of stones, a bullet having entered her left temple.

The fight was over in a matter of seconds, with the combined efforts of the four of them. All said and done, the quartet finally found the entrance to the tomb, and stepped inside.

From there, it was for the most part a typical dungeon-crawl, populated with the usual bandits, Draugr, skeever, and frostbite spider. At least, until they reached a particular section with a set of steel portcullis gates. In front of those, were three stones, which, when passed, opened each of them. The thing was, they never stayed open long enough for anyone to pass through all of them.

“Hold on a tic. What if Harry, Tommy, and I activate the stones, then you use that sprint shout you learned?” Justin suggested.

“It's brilliant!” Harry agreed.

“Uh, right. Good a solution as any. Activate them one at a time once I get to the gate,” said Mazhe. He crossed the floor, and stood by the gate, then gave a nod. First Harry, then Justin and Tommy activated their pillar, and each gate opened.

“ _WULD_!” Mazhe shouted, and became a momentary blur as he blasted through the open gates to the other side. The gates all slammed closed, but immediately sprung open again, as if in defeat.

“Bloody brilliant!” Harry grinned, as they caught up with their friend.

The way to the tomb's main chamber was far less exciting, with them only having to deal with a few frostbite spiders. Between the four of them they made quick work of the arachnids, and finally arrived at one last steel portcullis. Activating it, they stepped into the main chamber in time to see four enormous dragon statues emerge from their dormant positions, from within two pools on either side of the stone path.

“Damn. Now that's something,” said Justin, shaking his head.

“No kidding. C'mon, that looks like the sarcophagus,” said Mazhe, pointing to the ornate stone object at the far end of the room, well-lit by torches.

“Mazhe. Hold on. Look.” Tommy pointed to an upright sarcophagus to the left side of the one made of stone. The lid had busted open, and a Draugr lay splayed out on top of it. “Someone's been here before.”

It took no further prompting for everyone to have weapons at the ready, as they crossed the chamber, to at last arrive at the large decorated monument. Up close, it was truly magnificent, a fitting tribute to the founder of the Greybeards. However, it was more than apparent up close, that something was missing. In the place obviously meant for the horn, was instead a note. Mazhe snatched it up, and opened it.

 

_Dragonborn—_

_I need to speak to you. Urgently._

_Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you._

— _A friend_

 

Mazhe sneered as he read the note.

“Someone is going to die.”

* * *

Mazhe didn't say another word from then until they landed back in Riverwood. They stopped just outside the inn, and the Dragonborn turned to face his friends.

“Wait here. I should be only a few minutes.”

“Mazhe...”

“Harry, trust me. I'll deal with whoever this meddling fool is, then we're on our way back up to High Hrothgar. Do me a favour and prep us a Port key.”

“Uh... okay then. Just, be careful.”

Harry still had his doubts about his friend going into an unknown situation on his own. Of course, Mazhe was by no means a naive boy, and was more than capable of seeing after his own safety. He didn't need his hand held.

He was gone for no more than five minutes. He stepped out, blood splattered across his cheek and neck. He had a vicious smile on his face.

“What? You think I was joking? The woman was a real piece of work. C'mon, let's get this back to Arngeir so we can call it a day.”

“She likely only wished to speak to you,” said Justin, “Was it truly necessary?”

“You do understand the gravity of what's going on, do you not?” Mazhe snapped, “Her life or the lives of everyone? Which is more important?”

“What if she knew of what was going on? She could have been a source of information, Mazhe.”

“That may be true. But had she wanted to discuss matters with me, or share information, there were other ways of doing it that did not involve sending me off chasing my tail. Now let's get back up to High Hrothgar so we may finish our business there and we can retreat back to Riften.”

Harry gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze in support, then held out a small stone in his hand, programmed to take them up to the Greybeards' monastery. Within seconds, they vanished in a blur of limbs.

They found Arngeir meditating just inside the door.

“Ah. You have retrieved the horn of Jurgen Windcaller,” he said, seeing the ancient artefact in Mazhe's hands. “You have now passed all of the trials.” He stood up. “Come. It is time for us to recognize you formally as Dragonborn.” He glanced at the others. “If the rest of you could wait off to the side.”

The ceremony or ritual which followed was rather brief, with Mazhe learning the third, final word to the Unrelenting Force shout, and receiving the Greybeards' greeting, all of it spoken in the dragon language. Harry was able to pick up bits and pieces of the words spoken, but very little, considering it was excessively loud, making it difficult to concentrate. Mazhe then bid the Greybeards good-bye, with the understanding he and his companions were more than welcome there.

Another Port key deposited them just outside the Ragged Flagon.

“What are we doing back here?” Tommy asked.

“Rest, a break,” Mazhe answered, “It's been three days of... hell. I want some rest, something to eat, some time to think about things. Need to compose a few letters as well... and I think tomorrow we need to get back to the College of Winterhold. Tolfdir needs to know what's going on, and I'll need to have a chat with Urag, see what he might know.”

“We should also talk to Farengar again, given his obsession with the beasts,” Harry suggested.

“Agreed.”

They quickly claimed their usual table, and Vekel was already making his way over with a platter of bottles.

“Good to see you've all made it back in one piece.” Mazhe turned his head to find Brynjolf had come out of the corridor leading into the inner Cistern.

“It's been no picnic, 'Bryn. And it's far from over.”

“We're just here for the night, then it's off to the College of Winterhold,” said Harry.

“A pair of strange fellows were roaming the market this morning. They were looking for you, Mazhe,” Brynjolf said, producing a single folded parchment and passing it over. “They were rather light in the pockets, other than this.”

“Thank you.”

Mazhe unfolded the note.

 

_Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Mazhe before he reaches Solstheim._

 

_Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.(2)_

 

Mazhe frowned as he read the note.

“Well?”

“Most bizarre... seems not even a day has passed and I've managed to somehow draw attention to myself, and not in a good way.”

“Solstheim? Where's that?” Tommy asked, looking at the note.

“It's a small island Northeast of Skyrim... it's actually a part of Morrowind. It's very confusing... the Greybeards have only just officially recognized me as Dragonborn.”

“It surprises me as to how fast information gets around here, guys. Even with what seems like limited lines of communication,” Justin noted.

“Still. Solstheim isn't close. It's like crossing the province to get there, except by boat.”

“Sounds like magic to me,” said Harry, shaking his head.

“Seriously. Whatever's going on, these guys are a threat, we're all in agreement, am I right?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah, agreed. What'd they look like, 'Bryn?” Mazhe asked.

“About my height, rather thin, tan outfits and strange masks. By their accents they were dark elves.”

Mazhe gave a little smirk.

“Any clue where they were headed?”

“Sorry lad, I didn't ask—though they did head into the Bee and Barb a short time later.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“You do remember my meeting with Septimus Signus sometime ago?”

“Gods, that was ages ago.”

“Seems like it now, yes,” Mazhe agreed, “Anyway, the little assignment he gave me... requires but one more item—the blood of a Dunmer.”

He took a deep swig from the bottle in front of him.

“How convenient that this little group show up as they do.”

“Perhaps they've stayed in town.”

“We'll check in the morning.”

* * *

The early morning found the group entering the Bee and Barb. None of them were surprised to find Telen-Jai at the counter—the inn was open most of the time, only locked up for a few hours in the early morning. Keerava was likely getting some rest. They got a few steps in.

Then--

“You there! You're the one they call Dragonborn?” came the demand from the doorway leading down to the cellar.

The pair were exactly as Brynjolf had described—wearing tan robes, and strange masks. If Harry had to compare them to something, they somewhat resembled starfish with too many arms.

“Yes, I'm Dragonborn. And I know why you're here,” Mazhe answered, and before they could react--

“ _Fus... RO DAAAH_!”

It was a clap of thunder that rolled forward, slamming the two strange individuals heavily into the wall. One fell sideways, and tumbled down the stairs into the cellar, while the other simply slid down the wall, and collapsed into a heap, the mask dislodged from his face. Blood was coming out of both his nose and his ears.

Mazhe glanced around, mentally thanking several divines the place was actually empty. Talen-Jai was rooted to the floor, staring at the group in shock, and noises upstairs told them everyone in the building was now wide awake.

“Bloody hell! Did—Gods, Mazhe, he's dead.”

“Good. The point of the exercise, now, wasn't it?” Mazhe snarked, as he knelt down beside the body. He rummaged in his rucksack, and pulled out a strange-looking device. He twisted a few knobs on the top of it, then plunged it into the dead man's chest.

“We should've at least interrogated them, find out who actually sent them after you. There will likely be others,” said Justin, shaking his head.

Mazhe only sent him a glare as he stowed the strange device away in his rucksack.

“Looks like we need to visit Septimus. Harry, d'you mind making us another Port key?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry and the circle have an encounter with the Daedric prince of forbidden knowledge; Harry and Tommy have a discussion with Justin to sort out where things stand between them; a second attack from tan-robed cultists nearly costs lives, resulting in Mazhe and the group travelling to Solstheim and a trek into another enormous ruin; Harry is treated to a most bizarre dream; and an encounter with one of Hermaeus Mora's black books somehow separates Harry from the rest of his circle..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So. Mazhe has murdered Delphine. Anyone who has played Skyrim knows how much of a bitch she is, and equally, I know there are loads of you out there who would like nothing more than to send her ass to Oblivion. Of course, that also means some interesting complications with regard to the main quest, right? Don't worry, I have it sorted ;-)_   
> _Now with the “Dragonborn” expansion being out, and yes, I've played it, I can weave that part of the story into mine. And once again, sort of poking holes in a game-mechanic here. How is it the cultists just suddenly show up from a place as far away as Solstheim? Gotta love how the game just plops things down, rather than making them actually travel. It's the same as the courier... gah! At least make him actually have to travel._   
> _(1) It's interesting that Balgruuf already knows about the dragon when the Dragonborn approaches him. Meh, guess that's how games work, eh?_   
> _(2) Verbatim text (C) Bethesda._


	23. The Temple of Miraak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry and the circle have an encounter with the Daedric prince of forbidden knowledge; Harry and Tommy have a discussion with Justin to sort out where things stand between them; a second attack from tan-robed cultists nearly costs lives, resulting in Mazhe and the group travelling to Solstheim and a trek into another enormous ruin; Harry is treated to a most bizarre dream; and an encounter with one of Hermaeus Mora's black books somehow separates Harry from the rest of his circle..._

**23: THE TEMPLE OF MIRAAK**

**18 Last Seed – 2 Hearthfire, 4E201**

* * *

Less than a minute later, the four of them were standing in a small outpost set in the ice field north of Winterhold: the home and research station of Septimus Signus. Mazhe retrieved the strange-looking device from his satchel, and handed it over to the aged man.

“I can almost... hear them... I feel their life energy,” the old man intoned, “Come, I will make the mixture.”

For the next hour, Harry and his circle could only watch, as the mage worked at an alchemy station, blending a number of ingredients with the harvested blood. He referred to a series of parchments set out nearby, likely carefully-written notes, research into the strange contraption which seemed to take up a vast amount of room in the small outpost. It was definitely of Dwemer origin, with a series of rings on one side, all of different sizes. It was certainly a curious thing, all were in agreement on that much. With that kind of locking mechanism, it could only point to extraordinary treasure hidden inside.

At last, Septimus poured part of the potion into a small flask, crossed the floor to the contraption, then dumped some of the flask on a spot near the centre of the rings.

“Most disappointing--” Septimus stopped speaking, as one of the rings began to shift, rotating in a counter-clockwise direction. Then two others began, and a fraction of a second later, so did the rest of them. All of them, spinning, faster and faster, until they all aligned in concentric circles. With a final loud CLUNK, the rings seemed to telescope inward, and the middle slid out of place, revealing a rather non-descript room at its end.

Septimus was moving faster than a man his age should be able to, and cleared the telescoping tunnel, to stand in front of a pedestal at the middle of the chamber. On it lay an enormous book, its cover seemingly made up of a patchwork of leather. It was truly unique, and Harry could easily feel the magic radiating from it. The rest of the group had filed in behind.

“What's this? It's just a book!” Septimus sounded annoyed, but reached out for it anyway.

“Careful, sir,” Harry warned, but it was too late. Septimus was lifted off the ground, as a mass of dark tentacles blasted out of the book to snatch the elderly mage tightly. Far more terrifying, a dark cloud seemed to form, with what seemed like hundreds of eyes, all blinking at once, the edge of the cloud surrounded by more dark tentacles.

“My... dear... Septimus.” The voice seemed to come from everywhere, echoing in the hollow chamber. It came across as condescending, syrupy, sticky: something like the dark tentacles which now held Septimus captive. "You have been a most _loyal_ servant, but I am afraid you have... _exhausted_ your usefulness to me."

Another tentacle exploded from the book, seeming to blast straight through Septimus' face, and exit the other side. The man cried out once, and fell limp. He was dead.

Now, Harry knew he was looking at something that was far more terrifying than Voldemort ever could be: the face (if it could be called that) of a monster. Still, he worked up the courage.

“Who... who are you?”

The dark tentacles dropped the body of Septimus, while the hundreds of eyes all blinked and looked at the speaker.

“I, am Hermaeus Mora, seer of the unseen, knower of the unknown, the keeper of forbidden knowledge, the gardener of men.”

The eyes blinked again, and Harry felt tremendous pressure on his mental shields. They held momentarily, but they were truly no match against a Daedric Deity. It seemed like his entire life flashed before his mind's eye in a heartbeat.

“Most... curious, mortal. A body bearing host to _two_ souls, though perhaps not _intentionally_ ,” the Daedric prince remarked.

“I... please do not harm my friends,” said Mazhe, “I have done as you asked.”

“Indeed you have.” The eyes all turned back to Mazhe, and Harry felt the pressure all but vanish.

“What happens now?”

“Now you have my Ohgma Infinium. It contains the knowledge of the ages as revealed to Xarses, my loyal servant.” The eyes blinked several times. “For hundreds of years, it's been shut away from the world, locked away in this infernal lockbox. Septimus was a useful tool for unleashing it.”

“You see all men as tools then?” Justin muttered.

“ _Some_ are more useful than _others_ , but all mortals have a use, a _purpose_ , do you not agree? All eventually outlive their use, this is but a sad, simple truth.” The mass of eyes once again turned to look at Mazhe. “Now, champion, the Ohgma Infinium falls to you. Let us work wonders together.” The tentacles and the cloud of eyes vanished.

For several seconds, no one moved, still stunned by what had just transpired.

“Gods... that was...”

“Feel like I need a shower,” Tommy muttered, “Grab the book or whatever the fuck it is, let's get out of here.”

“Ditto,” Harry finally managed.

Mazhe needed no further prompting, as he collected the heavy tome and stuffed it into his rucksack. He would look at it later. The big issue for now, was to put as much distance between themselves and their present location.

“Harry. Mind making us another Portkey?”

Moments later, they landed in a swirl of limbs in the courtyard of the College of Winterhold. While Mazhe decided to head for the library for some research, Harry and the others headed up to the Arch-Mage's quarters to speak with Tolfdir, and at least let him know of Septimus' demise. The College would likely see to a proper burial.

* * *

_Early morning, 20 Last Seed_

For the first time in what seemed like ages, the four of them stayed in the Hall of Attainment. Harry's rooms were exactly as they'd been left, and the group agreed to take a bit of time to recover from the stressful events of the last few days. So it was, just before dawn, that Harry's mobile rang.

“Yeah?” Harry questioned, sleepily.

“ _Harry_.” It was Remus. “ _We just got word from the city guard. A dragon's been spotted south of the city._ ”

“Shit. All right, we'll be there shortly.” He ended the call, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. 'Way too early for this', he thought. “Mazhe?”

“Something's wrong?”

“Remus just called. There's a dragon just south of Riften. Though I think the city guard could probably deal with it, it's... it's your back yard, right?”

“Yeah,” Mazhe agreed, as he stood up and began to dress. The others were also getting dressed at this point, there being an unspoken agreement that they would go together.

One spent port key later deposited them in the Ragged Flagon, where Remus was waiting. Another port key took them just outside the west gate of the city, where a detachment of the city guard were waiting.

“Dragonborn. Good of you to come,” said the guard captain.

“We got here quick as we could,” said Mazhe, “Where was it seen?”

“In that direction.”

“Then let us head that way. When we locate it, open with a ranged attack. Concentrate your fire on its wings, we need to cripple it.”

“Once it's down, concentrate your fire on its head and face,” Tommy picked up, “Eyes, mouth, snout.”

They actually came upon it near a farm as it terrorized its owners and the pair of guards providing security. The house and the mill were both now fully alight, with the dragon circling overhead. In the morning light, they could see it was a dark green shade, with slightly lighter colouring at the edge of its wings. The city guard quickly formed a line, longbows drawn, and took aim. Twenty arrows were loosed, with most of them finding their mark—the city guard were more than able marksmen.

Unfortunately, given the size of the beast, the attack did very little damage, and only attracted the dragon's attention. It circled around again, and while the men hurried to get arrows loaded, it unleashed a deadly stream of fire, sending men scattering. Three were unable to get clear, and were set alight.

“ _Aguamenti_!” A stream of water from Remus' wand doused the flames, but the men were horribly injured, effectively knocked out of the fight.

“Harry, see to them,” said Mazhe.

“Sure.”

“Gods. We need something a little more potent.”

“Shotgun would work up close, but not at that range,” said Tommy.

“Here it comes again!” the guard captain shouted, as the men again scrambled to get arrows knocked and ready.

This time, the shots were much more accurate, and rather than piercing the skin of the wings, a number of shots struck the bone structure of it. The dragon let out a terrible screech, and fell from the sky with a loud THUD, crushing a thicket of nearby trees in the process. It climbed back onto its clumsy feet, balancing itself with its injured wings, and let out another terrible screech, a stream of fire igniting the nearby plants and trees.

_KAWHACK_! Harry's ice spike struck it in the chest, while a blast of fire courtesy of Mazhe struck it in the face. It let out more screeches, and another plume of scorching flames.

“Harry, we got this!” Tommy shouted, finally able to unleash a barrage of gunfire from the MP5 he wielded. The dragon let out another horrible scream, as the weapon was able to pump dozens of rounds into the target.

Another round of arrows joined the barrage of bullets, all of them peppering the dragon's face. It let out a final roar of defeat, and collapsed to the ground. Mazhe was ready for what was to happen next, as the dragon simply began to burn from the inside out, with a powerful surge of magic swirling from it, into his soul.

“All hail the Dragonborn!” came a shout from the guard captain, with a number of others joining in.

Sometime later, they had returned to Remus' cottage. While Tommy took the time to visit with his nieces, Harry, Mazhe, and Justin discussed the situation at hand with Remus. They'd barely gotten started when there came a knock at the door. Remus opened it to find another guard captain, along with one other.

“Yes?”

“May we speak to Mazhe?”

“What about?” Mazhe asked, joining Remus at the door.

“Dragonborn. We've been asked to bring you before the Jarl,” the guard captain answered.

“Did she give a reason why?”

“She wishes to express her gratitude for your efforts in person, milord.”

“What's going on?” Tommy had joined the others.

“We've been asked to visit the Jarl,” Mazhe answered.

“We'll finish this discussion later then,” said Remus.

The walk to Mistveil Keep was rather short, although it did result in a rather comical encounter as the group passed the city gate. Harry, Justin, Mazhe, and Tommy were rather startled to see a man running toward them, wearing nothing but a hat and a smile. He stopped short of them.

“'been looking for you,” he announced, “Got something I'm supposed to deliver. _Your_ hands _only_.”

“Uh... you know you're naked, right?” Tommy managed. That was all it took. Mazhe collapsed in a fit of laughter, while Harry was trying and failing not to laugh himself.

Unfazed by their words, the courier produced a sealed letter from who only knows where, and held it out for Mazhe, who had somewhat recomposed himself.

“Who... who's it from?” he managed.

“They didn't say who they were, other than they were a friend of yours. Looks like that's it, gotta go.” He took off, leaving the group momentarily speechless.

“Err... right then.” And the group was again reduced to fits of laughter.(1)

“Gods... did that just happen?” Harry managed, at last getting a grip on things.

“Just... wow,” said Tommy, shaking his head, “Had to be crazy, my answer.”

“Yeah, agreed. Right, let's just...”

“Best not to keep the Jarl waiting,” the guard captain said, seemingly unfazed by the strange courier.

The meeting with the Jarl didn't take long. Mazhe found himself two-thousand Septims richer, with the Jarl being more than appreciative of the Dragonborn's assistance in dealing with the dragon. She also directed them to check out Lost Tongue Overlook, since there were rumours of another possible dragon sighting.

The trek up to the location took several hours. Mazhe knew where it was, having been to the bottom steps when he was much younger. However, Harry had not been, and so travel by magical means was out of the question. The rumour had been correct, and indeed, they found a dragon as well as a word wall at the top of the steps. Between the four of them, they brought the beast down, and Mazhe absorbed its soul.

The word wall this time gave him the word “ _faas_ ”, or “fear” in the dragon language. Now that he somewhat understood how it worked, it was just a matter of using one of the souls he'd now collected. As it was, he still didn't understand where they were 'stored', only that they were there, waiting to be used. It was some sort of magic, this much they all agreed on.

They retreated back to Remus' cottage, where they broached a potentially threatening matter.

“Harry, I've been doing some thinking. We may need to consider alternate accommodation. The dragon could've easily attacked here rather than the farm,” said Remus.

“That's true. Wooden structure and all,” Harry agreed, “Stone buildings would be much safer.”

“Hmm. Markarth or Solitude—Markarth would be the better choice, the place is all Dwemer construction,” Mazhe thought aloud, “Though purchasing a home in Markarth would be incredibly expensive.”

“What about underground?” Tommy suggested, “Delvin would probably be able to help, right? Mazhe, you mind having a chat with him?”

“We can head there now.” Mazhe's stomach chose that time to voice it's opinion on the skipping of lunch, garnering a round of laughter from the group.

“Ring me up and let me know,” said Remus.

As they enjoyed lunch in the Ragged Flagon, Harry explained the problem to Delvin.

“It wouldn't be permanent, just until this dragon business is dealt with.”

“Mercer will need to know, I don't need to tell you that,” said Delvin, “But it shouldn't be an issue.”

“There's a collapsed opening just inside the door leading out to the Ratway. Considering what Remus knows about expansion charms, he could probably make a set of rooms there,” said Harry. “Thing is, we won't ever be in the way.”

“And I can definitely help out, Charms was one of my stronger subjects,” Justin added.

With the Guild Master consulted and the concept cleared with him, Remus set to work, with Justin and Harry helping out where they could. The various members of the Guild were certainly curious as to exactly how Remus was going to make a set of rooms out of nothing. It proved to be more than educational, with a truly awesome display of magic.

Remus decided to use a similar layout to the set of rooms Harry had been assigned during his forced stay at Hogwarts. A comfortable common room, with a dining room and a small kitchen, and rooms for the entire group. It was a given that Harry and his circle would sometimes be staying there, so it only made sense that there be extra room. Not to mention, it was nothing to add more space if required.

By the end of the day, the cottage had been closed up and secured against typical vandals and bandits, while Remus and Tommy's nieces were moved into the newly created flat. If anything, the new living arrangements were a step up from the cottage, with more room provided. At the time of construction, the cottage was really only meant for Remus and the children, with the occasional visit. With Harry and his circle spending more time there, it did get rather crowded.

After they took a late dinner, Justin finally decided to discuss the rift that had formed between Harry and the Commonwealth.

“Harry, I can't begin to fathom how you felt in June—“

“Justin...”

“Harry, let him say his piece, it's only fair,” said Remus. The group were seated comfortably in the common room, beverages of choice amongst them.

Harry made a face, but indicated his friend continue. It was only fair.

“I promise you, I had no idea what the S.O.U. were up to, and trust me, if I had, I wouldn't have brought either of you near the event. You weren't the only one who was furious to find out what actually happened—who was behind it. I had some very choice words to say to Brandon and the other members who'd been watching our backs. And I'll tell you this: queen Susan was livid when she got word. Brandon is lucky he's still got a job... a few others not so. It put a black mark on all of us, right? I'm truly sorry we let you down.”

“I...” Harry blew out a breath, digesting Justin's words.

“Look. No matter what happens back in Trevelyan, I'm here for you. I have resignation papers that only need a signature, and I'll sign them if that's what you want, Harry. I'm—or was—your teacher, but more importantly, you're my best friend. Helping you always comes first... it always has.”

“No... you don't have to go that far, Justin. I... Gods, I'm still finding it hard... the same unit who were watching my back all throughout the Triwizard tournament... then again last year... were the same people responsible for the disaster that put Tommy in our midst—not that I don't regret you being here, Tommy, it's just, it shouldn't have happened in the first place. You should be on your way to mending your relationship with your family, not grieving for the loss of them!”

That got a gruff nod out of the man in question.

“My sentiments exactly,” Justin agreed, “But there is something worse. There was... and perhaps still is... a spy, enemy sympathizer, or both, within the S.O.U. The government is still investigating, but the Queen herself has ordered the government to stay away from you until the breach is cleared. No matter what you think of Valicadia right now, they still have your safety in mind, and always will.”

“I'm still not ready to openly forgive them. But you... I don't blame you... it would be stupid—I was being stupid.”

Tommy let out a snort. “Guess we shouldn't be surprised, really. I mean, there was the Anthrax attack in January.”

“Possible the two incidents could be linked,” said Remus, “Incidents aimed at destabilizing the government. It's the sort of tactics Voldemort used during the first Wizarding war back in England.”

“Having a specialized military unit cause that much chaos... like Justin said, a black eye for sure,” Tommy agreed, seeming to soften. Like Harry, he also quickly understood where Justin was coming from. There were others much higher up the chain of command responsible. And really, Justin hadn't been working for the government at the time of the disaster, so really, he was only a citizen of the Commonwealth.

* * *

_28 Last Seed_

The past few days had seen a return to the regular training schedule. With the dragon situation stalled for now, Harry felt it only proper they get back on track. Therefore, that morning found Harry at his normal weekly smithing lesson with Balimund. Mazhe used a nearby workbench, making adjustments to his armour. Justin and Tommy, meanwhile, were hunched over a conjured bench nearby, working on some sort of gadget Justin had brought with him.

Harry looked up just in time to see a fireball flying at Mazhe.

“MAZHE!”

His friend snapped up a shield just in time to have the flaming projectile slam into it.

_KAWHACK_! Harry's ice spike narrowly missed the attackers, a pair dressed in tan robes wearing masks that resembled octopus tentacles—more of Miraak's cultists.

_ZAAAP_. Asbjorn collapsed in a heap, spasming and twitching, the recipient of a powerful shock spell.

“We shall clear the way for the coming of the true Dragonborn!” one of the enemies exclaimed, and Harry was forced to duck another nasty fireball, while Mazhe once again sprung up a shield to deflect a shock spell.

“Harry? What the fuck?!” Tommy was alarmed, quickly understanding what was going on. Justin had already produced his wand. Tommy reached into his small rucksack, and produced his MP5.

Further action was not required, however, as the city guard took great exception to the strangers causing havoc. One cultist took an arrow to the chest and dropped like a sack of stones, while the other took an arrow in the shoulder and staggered back.

“I shall not fall!” he cried, unleashing another shock spell at Mazhe.

Mazhe retaliated with a fireball of his own. Weakened by the arrow, the cultist had little chance to react as the flaming projectile caught him in the chest, setting his robes alight. His screams were pitiful.

“Take your medicine, fucker,” Tommy muttered, as they came to gather around the attackers. The pair were not long for the world, and expired shortly after.

While Mazhe helped Asbjorn to heal his injuries, he realized they couldn't further postpone a trip to Solstheim. He expressed his thoughts as he passed over another healing potion. Asbjorn was still trembling like a leaf, having received the equivalent of a lightning strike. The man was lucky to be alive.

“They'll just keep doing this. Next time someone might end up dead.”

“Yeah, agreed,” said Harry, “It's whatever you want to do, you know I'll always have your back, Mazhe.”

“The note said they arrived in Windhelm. We'll stop back at the flat, let Remus know, 'an I'll also want to let Delvin know, just so he's in the loop.”

An hour later, they were at the Windhelm docks, looking for Gjalund Salt-Sage. They found him on the third try.

“If you're looking for passage to Solstheim, too bad. I'm not going back there anymore,” said the fair-haired Nord. He looked out of sorts, even though it had been well over a week since the cultists first attacked. How was it that two more had shown up then?

“Friend, we need your help,” Harry tried, “Two individuals attacked us, and according to the information we obtained from them, they came from Solstheim aboard your boat.”

“Now hold on! That wasn't my fault... I didn't know they were going to attack anybody. I don't even know how I got here,” Gjalund protested.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It's hard to explain... I remember those people with the masks coming on board, then... Next thing I remember, I was here and they were gone.”

Gjalund rubbed his face with his hands. Whatever the cultists had done to him still truly bothered him.

“That's not right, losing whole days like that. There's been something strange going on there for a while, but after this... I'm done. I'm not going back to Solstheim. I'm sorry.”

“Even if... we paid double your usual fare? Look, we really need to solve what's going on here,” said Harry, “Do you really want to be responsible for further deaths? A friend was nearly killed this morning... because of them.”

“I... I guess you have a point,” Gjalund conceded, “But I still need some coin. Five hundred Septims.”

“Deal,” said Mazhe, reaching into his rucksack and pulling out his coin bag.

“Here, let me throw in an extra hundred Septims,” said Harry, “Sounds like hazard pay.”

Gjalund was more than appreciative, as Harry pulled out a bag of coins to join what Mazhe was producing.

* * *

_31 Last Seed_

_Raven Rock settlement, Solstheim, Morrowind Province_

The trip had gone relatively smoothly, but Harry was more than happy to set feet back on solid ground as the boat was tied up.

“Well, here we are. This is Raven Rock,” Gjalund said, “Can't say I'm all that glad to see it again. Good luck. Maybe you can figure out what's going on around here.”

“That's the plan,” said Mazhe, as they disembarked.

They had only gotten a short distance, not even off the dock, before they were approached by a tall Dunmer wearing expensive clothes.

“I don't recognize you, so I'll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander. State your intentions.”

“I, uh--” Mazhe began, but Harry cut in, asking, “Before we answer that question, who are you and what business is it of yours?”

“Harry...” Justin said.

The stranger, meanwhile, looked annoyed at Harry's tone.

“I am Andril Arano, the Second Councillor of Raven Rock. Again I must ask who you are and what exactly are your intentions?”

“I'm Mazhe. This is Harry, Justin, and Tommy. We're here investigating cultists who were sent by Miraak to kill us. Have you heard of him, or know of someone who might know about him?”

“Miraak... Miraak... I... the name sounds familiar, but I'm not sure.” He seemed to think for a moment, before saying, “I think... it might have something to do with the Earth Stone.”

“Where is this Earth Stone?” Tommy asked.

“Just over there.” Andril pointed a long finger toward a green beam of light shining skyward, with a strange stone formation. Even from that distance, they could see a group of people working around it.

“Err... thank you, sir. I didn't mean to offend, just we have many reasons to be suspicious of people asking our business, equally as you do,” said Harry.

“Indeed.” Andril gave them a nod, then said, “Just remember, Raven Rock is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you're here you will be expected to abide by our laws.”

Mazhe gave a grin. “We'll be on our best behaviour.”

After procuring a map of the island from a merchant in the small market, the four of them set off for the Earth Stone, which was only a short walk from the centre of the settlement. It took very little time to get there, and when they arrived, they found it crawling with individuals at work on some sort of monument being built around the black stone at the centre of a shallow circular pool.

“ _Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten,”_ they were all chanting, save for one: another dark elf, dressed in an unusual set of expensive robes.

“Err... excuse me,” Harry dared ask, as they approached. “What's happening here?”

“I might ask the same of you, seeing as you four are not in the same state as the others here,” answered the stranger.

“We're looking for someone named Miraak,” Mazhe answered.

“Miraak... Miraak... It sounds familiar, and yet I can't quite place... Oh. Wait, I recall. But that makes very little sense. Miraak's been dead for thousands of years.”

“How do you mean?”

“I'm not sure, but it is fascinating, isn't it? Perhaps it has some relation to what's going on here. Quite unexpected. I'm afraid I can't give you any answers. But there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak's toward the centre of the island. If I were you, I'd look there.”

“Can you show me?” Mazhe was already pulling out the newly purchased map. The dark elf was only happy to indicate the location. He also marked another location.

“Should you have other questions, you can find me either here, or at Tel Mithryn, my home here in Solstheim.”

“You've been very helpful, uh—”

“I am Neloth.”

“I'm Harry. These are my friends Mazhe, Tommy, and Justin.”

“Ah, I see. And now your names most certainly bring note,” said Neloth, “The unfortunate events at the College of Winterhold, Savos Aren was a great wizard.”

“He was my mentor. He is sorely missed.”

After a quick discussion amongst themselves, it was once again decided that Harry would use his broom to fly to the location, rather than them waste the time getting there on foot. Tommy and Justin went into the trunk, and with that secured in Harry's pocket, he took flight on his Firebolt, with Mazhe on the back. The flight only took an hour or so, given the broom's speed, with them flying over several forts, and a number of other key locations. They slowed down or stopped several times so Mazhe could look at the map, more to confirm what they were seeing from the air.

Finally, they arrived at a massive temple. Much like at the Earth Stone back in Raven Rock (which they could easily see from this point), there were a number of people somehow enthralled and working on the outside structure. The pair landed, and Harry stowed his broom away, then produced his trunk to let Tommy and Justin out. This took a little longer, since the pair had gone into the Virtual Projection Room.

The four of them finally began climbing up the wooden steps leading to the top of the ruin, and hopefully its entrance. The architecture was unlike anything they'd seen up to this point, at least as far as the exterior of a Nordic ruin went. It looked to be something... much older.

Reaching the top of the stairs, they then found stairs going down on all sides, leading to another standing stone. It was also casting a beam of green light skyward. On the far side, there appeared to be a ramp descending in a curve, and that was likely the entrance. Attention, however, was drawn to an individual not enthralled like the others.

“...here to help you! You must leave this place!”

The speaker was a woman, and she wore armour unlike anything the group had seen before. It was mainly steel, with dark brown quilted material beneath it. To Harry, it was gorgeous, and he made a note to perhaps ask where he might obtain such gear. The woman had noticed them.

“You there. What brings you to this place? Why are you here?”

“I might ask the same thing. I'm Mazhe, this is Harry, Justin, and Tommy.”

Tommy let out a snot. “Seems we've been doing a lot of that lately.”

The woman gave a sad smile. “I am Frea of the Skaal. I am here to either save my people, or avenge them.”

“These people who are somehow enthralled,” Harry guessed.

“Yes,” answered Frea, “Something has taken control of most of the people here in Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves, and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the stones, and the very land itself.”

“Sounds like the Imperius curse,” Harry said, mostly to himself.

“What is this 'Imperius curse' you speak of?” Frea asked.

“The results are very similar to what's happened to your people. It strips away the victim's free will,” Harry answered.

“We're trying to figure out what's going on. Some cultists attacked us twice now. They were sent by Miraak, according to their orders,” said Mazhe.

“My father Storn, who is also our shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible.”

“Like Mazhe said, he tried to have us killed, so maybe it's not quite as impossible as you might think,” said Harry, a dark look crossing his face, “When it comes to magic, I don't think there are too many things that are impossible. Seems there's always a way... even concerning death.”

Frea frowned, then said, “Then all of us have a reason to see what lies beneath us. Let us go. There is nothing more I can do here. The Tree Stone and my friends are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the temple below.”

At once there came a grinding sound. Something was opening below. On cue, everyone had armed themselves, ready for whatever threat was about to make itself known. It was wise they did, as four cultists emerged from the ramp leading down, and attacked.

This time it was Justin who acted first, firing off a string of banishing curses at the threats. Being clustered together as they were, they were sent flying. The others quickly reacted, sending the now dazed cultists off to their next great adventure. It was over in seconds.

The ramp, as expected, led to the actual entrance to the temple, and stepping inside, they found it exactly like most other Nordic ruins—at least in the structural design. The layout, on the other hand, was rather different. A short distance in, they came across several circular chambers. Frea encouraged them to look around and collect anything that might be of use, but Mazhe declined. He'd already acquired enough junk as it was; they were more than equipped to handle whatever might be around.

“We've dealt with a Dragon Priest once, Frea,” Mazhe explained.

“Miraak was one of them,” said Frea, surprised, “He served the dragons before their fall—at least for a while. Then he turned against them. He made his own path, and his actions cost him dearly.”

Mazhe let out a snort. “No kidding. Judging by the number of dragon skeletons on the hillside leading up to the temple, I would say Miraak was certainly able to stand on his own.”

“The stories say he sought to claim Solstheim for himself, and the dragons destroyed him for it.”

“He's another bully, a tyrant, a monster. We deal with him like every other,” said Tommy.

“Yeah, agreed,” said Harry, “Like I said to a certain whiskered wanker once, bullies only understand one thing: irrefutable, undeniable force. Let's keep moving.”

Some time after, they entered an enormous square room, with vast arches that were normally found outside. They straddled an equally enormous square pit, with a number of cages being suspended from the arches. Some of them held skeletons.

“I do not wish to imagine the kind of things that happened in this chamber. Who were the poor souls trapped in these cages? What sort of torture—“

Frea's musings were interrupted by the tell-tale sound of sarcophagus lids slamming open. They had company in the form of several very powerful Draugr.

They was once again tested, going up against one that resembled Jyrik Gauldurson. It was incredibly strong, and within seconds, it had spawned a Storm Atronach.

“Mazhe! The staff! Gods!” Harry shouted, panicked. He'd picked off the second Draugr with a blasting curse, it was still twitching on the other side of the room. Tommy and Frea, meanwhile, were tangling with a third.

“Distract it!” Tommy shouted, having to dodge a rather painful ice spike. Being around Harry enough, he knew these were more than painful, deadly if it landed in the right place.

Frea quickly caught on to what Tommy was up to, and kept the monster occupied until—

_Crunch_. The Draugr's head seemed to explode into thousands of tiny pieces, thanks to Tommy's shotgun. The body collapsed in a heap.

Mazhe, meanwhile, had quickly produced the Staff of Magus. Harry was having to dodge the conjured Storm Atronach, but Mazhe was still free, and brought the staff to bear on the remaining threat. Sure of an opening, he let fly, and the bolt of magic caught the bone walker in the side. It collapsed in a heap, though still alive—if it could be considered alive. Another blast from the staff finally dispatched it.

The fight wasn't over, as several cultists had been drawn to the commotion from below. However, they were easily dispatched, rather weak opponents considering the Draugr the group had just faced.

As they regrouped and checked themselves over for injuries, Frea seemed fascinated by the staff Mazhe was wielding.

“It's the Staff of Magus,” he explained, seeing her look.

“Then you have faced the Eye as well.” It was not a question, but Mazhe gave a sad nod.

“Terrible things happened when it was brought into the College,” said Harry, sourly, “We lost some great people.”

“Father says that sort of thing should never have been brought into this world.”

“Given all that happened, I couldn't agree more. But we didn't know at the time it was unearthed at Saarthal.” Harry blew out a breath. “Come on, let's keep moving.”

Move, they did. More corridors, more Draugr, many of them equally as difficult as the ones they'd encountered earlier. The temple was proving to be every bit as challenging as both Saarthal and Labyrinthian. Finally arriving at a semi-circular room, Mazhe suggested they stop, something everyone easily agreed on. Harry produced his chest, restored it to proper size, and they entered, after Harry added Frea to the wards.

“This is truly fascinating magic,” Frea commented, as they gathered around the small table in the common room.

“My friends here... they had it made for me,” Harry answered, with a rare grin.

After an hour's rest, and the few nicks and scratches in exposed areas tended to, they exited the chest, and resumed their trek through the ruins, if perhaps a bit more refreshed. If they believed things were going to get easier, they were sorely mistaking.

It seemed like every turn revealed either more Draugr, or more cultists. Several occasions resulted in rather painful injuries that required strong healing charms and healing potions. Much like Saarthal, some of the undead were able to utilize Dragon shouts. Justin had been blown down a corridor twice, and across a room once, while Tommy had the misfortune to be slammed into the back of a sarcophagus, an almost repeat incident to what he'd suffered in Saarthal. This time, neither suffered critical injuries—at least none that put them out of the fight for good.

Draugr and cultists weren't the only things they had to dodge. Traps were numerous, covering the broad spectrum of devious devices aimed at doing maximum damage. Darts, spikes, spears, swinging blades, battering rams, the temple had them all, with frightening frequency. One particular set of swinging blade traps had them all stumped until Harry used an immobilization charm on them. He again scolded himself for not realizing the simple solution sooner. After all, he was trained in magic from two different worlds!

Finally, they reached a larger room with a vaulted ceiling, and Mazhe was immediately drawn to a familiar ornamental structure they'd started calling a word wall. A set of letters were glowing, and as he approached, he could feel the word imprint itself in his head: _Mul_ —strength.

Then it was a free-for-all, as a number of upright sarcophagi burst open, including one which was at the back face of the room. The back of the sarcophagus led to a small chamber and a door, but everyone was currently tied up with the enemies that had appeared. All of them had helms with tall horns on them. It promised to be a painful fight.

Harry, though, had enough.

“ _REDUCTO_!” The Draugr which had emerged from the centre sarcophagus instantly lost its head, it being blown into a thousand pieces. He wheeled and repeated the process for one currently engaged with their new friend. It too, lost its head. In rapid succession, he sent all five of the monsters to their fate, then finally sagged to the floor, momentarily spent.

“Harry... Gods...” said Mazhe, impressed.

“That was... most frightening,” Frea managed.

“Harry's always been a little dynamo when it comes to magic,” said Tommy, stowing his weapons away.

“Piss off,” Harry managed, although it was all in jest.

“By the All-maker,” Frea whispered, “To see the remains of dragons displayed in such a manner...”

“Agreed. Certainly very brave. Whether intelligence would follow, well, that remains to be seen,” said Mazhe.

“All right, guys, let's keep moving,” Justin prodded. Mazhe couldn't agree more, and stepped into the small alcove hidden through the back of the sarcophagus. To his dismay, the door inside was locked with a formidable lock none of them had seen before. After breaking nearly twenty-five picks, Harry finally unleashed another terrifying blast of magic, obliterating both doors and opening the way.

They crossed a small room, after which Harry was forced to obliterate a second set of doors, and that led them into what was obviously a dining area. At first it seemed like a dead end, until Tommy found a hidden lever which opened a section of wall. That led down a passageway to another semi-circular room with a spiral staircase leading down. It was covered with a trap door, with the obvious control lever positioned just below three rather bizarre sculptures.

To Harry, they somewhat resembled fish, in a distorted, grotesque manner. To be sure, he set them all on fire, and watched as they burned to a crisp, before finally triggering the handle and opening the trap door. Better safe than sorry, and all that. The decoration had changed, and now featured more of the odd fish sculptures. More corridors, stairs, before they finally arrived at a gigantic upward-sloping cavern.

Here, there were more dragon skeletons on display, suspended from the ceiling, and careful observation spotted several rockfall traps. They traversed the chamber along the side, with Tommy relying on firearms to attack and destroy the enemies here, this time lowly skeletons as apposed to the rather tough Draugr that had been prominent in previous areas.

It wasn't all easy, however, as they reached the top of the chamber, as another particularly strong Draugr burst out of a horizontal sarcophagus. Being up close, Tommy dispatched it with two blasts from his shotgun.

“Bloody hell, how much further does this place go? Feels like I've run a marathon,” Harry complained.

“My sense tells me we're almost to the end,” said Frea.

“Gods, hope so. We've been in here for hours. At least it feels so.”

“After this... let's just be ready. This 'Miraak', he's dangerous. We all agree, right?”

“No shit, Tommy.”

They pushed through the large set of doors behind the sarcophagus, and were disappointed, as it led to yet another tunnel, twisting and winding its way further underground. Then, through a stone gate raised by a lever on a nearby pedestal, they stepped into a chamber unlike anything they'd seen before.

It was circular, with a strange, dark lattice of some sort making up the floor and walls, with intricate arch-work throughout. At the centre of the room stood a pedestal, and on it lay a book of about the same dimensions as the Ohgma Infinium. It was nearly black, with a strange green symbol decorating it.

“There is strange magic surrounding that book, ready yourself,” Frea warned.

“Careful, Mazhe,” Harry warned. Mazhe simply walked over to the pedestal, and opened the strange book.

It's debatable as to who was more surprised, when a single dark tentacle snaked from the book, to wrap itself around Mazhe's midsection, up and around his neck. He became partially transparent, but did not cry out. It was rather startling, but at the same time, if their friend was still at least partially there, then...

“No, don't interfere,” Harry said, stilling Tommy's hand.

“It might kill him!”

“No. Look. Remember the tentacles from the Ohgma Infinium?”

“He's talking to Hermaeus Mora, then,” Tommy guessed.

“Yeah, my suspicion.”

“Where is it you have come into contact with him?” Frea asked, surprised at the revelation.

“Mazhe has the _Ohgma Infinium_.”

“It would be wise not to have further contact with him. No matter what he promises, it can only lead to ruin.”

Finally, Mazhe retook solid form, but sagged to the floor, looking spent.

“By the Gods,” he muttered.

“What did you see?” Harry prodded.

“Miraak... was there. Along with these... things... hideous beasts. I have no idea what they were.”

“Where? Where is he? Can we reach him? Can we _kill_ him?” Frea almost demanded.

Mazhe let out a sigh. “Unlikely at this point. Somehow reading this book took me to where he was.”

“This is a dangerous thing then. We should return to my village, and show this to my father. Perhaps Storn can make sense of what's going on.”

“The settlement not far from here? We passed by it on our way here. If you trust us, we can get there quickly,” Harry offered.

* * *

Harry and Mazhe had flown over the Skaal village earlier, and so one spent port key later, they landed just at the edge of the settlement, as not to startle anyone who lived there. As Harry had suspected, it was nearing dark, and indeed they'd been inside the temple for hours. While Frea took Mazhe to see her father, Harry once again produced the chest and set it up against one of the buildings—the structures much resembled buildings in Morthal, if he had to make a comparison.

Harry, Tommy, and Justin climbed into the chest, and Harry wasted no time summoning Dobby. There was unspoken agreement they would stay the night there, since it was likely their business in the area was far from done.

“Harry Potter sir call for Dobby?”

“Yeah. We're going to be spending the night here. You mind fixing us up something to eat? Mazhe will be joining us.”

“Right away, Harry Potter sir!” and with that, the excitable house elf was off into the kitchen.

“If it's gonna be a while, I'm gonna go die in the shower,” Justin muttered, “God, that was nuts.”

“There'll be enough time.”

“Meantime. Join me on the floor. We'll do some mental exercises.” Tommy left no room for arguments.

A short time later, Mazhe joined them. Nothing was said, since this was all routine. The calming and breathing exercises were also of great benefit to Harry's mental shields. He'd progressed along far enough that he was then learning the reciprocal, Legilimency.

Finally they ended the exercise.

“Well?” was Harry's simple question.

“Storn is most concerned. We have to go to a place called Saering's Watch. Miraak learned a word of power there,” Mazhe answered, pulling out his map, and indicating a location on the north side of the island. “I think we should also provide a boost to Storn's ward over the settlement, he grows weary from the strain.”

“Tommy, Justin, wait here, we'll only be a few minutes,” Harry decided, while Mazhe placed the two books belonging to Hermaeus Mora up on one of the bookshelves. At this point, he didn't trust either of them.

It was exactly the same circumstance as months earlier back in the guest rooms they had been using at Hogwarts. Harry and Mazhe both cast what was in essence a booster charm at the ward Storn and two others were casting about the settlement. Harry also gave the three men pepper-up potions to help their stamina. He debated about just evacuating everyone into the trunk, but that wouldn't be practical, given they were all strangers. No, it was just better to help them boost the ward.

Back in the trunk, Mazhe further explained the situation.

“The word of power at Saering's Watch will be able to bring down whatever enchantment Miraak has put on the Wind Stone just North of here.”

“So it would also likely work on the other Standing Stone in Raven Rock,” Harry guessed.

“Yeah, likely. But not exactly the priority at this point. Let's get some rest, then head to Saering's Watch.”

* * *

_Tirdas, 1 Hearthfire, 4E201_

_Saering's Watch, Solstheim_

They had left just after sunrise, once again taking flight on Harry's broom to save time. Mazhe again rode on the back, while the others waited inside Harry's chest. The chest was truly a godsend in its versatility.

In the rush to get to the site, they hadn't counted on running into resistance. That resistance took the form of a dragon, who was rather upset to find out it wasn't the only thing able to fly.

“Oh FUCK!” was Harry's first thoughts and words, realizing his colossal blunder. He pushed down on the handle aggressively, and they were off like a shot, his Firebolt being pressed to its limits.

“Left! Left!” Mazhe shouted, sending a blast of fire at the beast. It impacted with the dragon's chest, making it let out an ungodly shriek. It responded by sending out a plume of scorching flames. Only the broom's incredible speed prevented them from being badly burned.

“Gods, it's keeping up with us, Harry!”

“I know that!”

He circled around, trying to come up with a plan. Something that could easily keep up with them?

“Mazhe. Hold on, I mean it.”

“Harry?”

“You trust me?”

No answer, only his best friend gripping about his waist tightly, as Harry pushed the broom to gain altitude, with the dragon in hot pursuit.

“Faster Harry!”

“Going as fast as I can, just hold on!” Harry aggressively pushed the handle down, forcing the broom into a dive. He remembered the move he'd seen Viktor pull off at the Quidditch World Cup... a _Wronski Feint_ , or something, wasn't it? Ron would know.

“Harry?!”

“Trust me!” Harry shouted back, as the dragon let out another plume of scorching flames. The incredible speed they were reaching was in their favour, though, as it limited the reach of the flames. Gods, the ground was coming up fast... wait. Now, Mazhe caught onto what his friend was up to. A narrow gorge carved into the hillside. But would they fit? Harry wasn't slowing down for anything... he chanced a look behind, and sure enough, the dragon was still on their six (as Tommy would say), though now having a bit of trouble keeping up. The wind was almost painful—they blasted into the narrow gorge, and Mazhe felt the tremendous vibrations in the broom, as Harry pulled up sharply to prevent them from ploughing a ditch. His feet actually dragged through the flowing stream as they levelled off.

The dragon, unfortunately, being as big as it was, could not compensate for the sudden change in speed and direction, and so slammed head-first into the gorge, becoming hopelessly stuck, its wings shredded on the frozen ground that made up the walls. The shrieks and screams it made were pitiful.

Harry finally pulled the broom to a stop, and they circled around, then flew out the top of the gorge, to finally return to the crashed beast.

“Mazhe... I'll leave you the honours.”

Mazhe dropped down onto the dragon's back, and drew a long blade from his rucksack, then climbed up its neck—at this point, the dragon was too disoriented to really understand what was happening. Harry had followed, if only to provide backup. Mazhe plunged the long blade into the top of the dragon's head, causing it to let out one final roar, the blade having passed through its brain.

“Best get off, rather not be burned alive,” Harry muttered, as the pair of them hopped down off the now dead carcass.

“Gods... that was truly amazing flying—” Mazhe's praise was interrupted, as there came a noisy pop, and a shade took shape a short distance in front of them.

“Miraak,” Mazhe hissed, recognizing the shade for who it was.

“It was a most... creative tactic, to entrap and slay a dragon in such a manner,” said Miraak, gesturing to the corpse, “But it takes a strong will to command a dragon's soul. Perhaps you aren't as powerful as you think.”

The dragon was beginning to burn, and unlike the last few times, the swirling surge of magic did not connect with Mazhe, but with Miraak. The shade let out a chuckle at Mazhe's shock.

“Thank you for your help. We will meet again soon.” Miraak faded out of view.

Of course, it was far from done, as they were then forced to face a throng of Draugr and skeletons roaming the exterior ruin. They'd all been woken up by the rather noisy crash of the dragon only a few minutes earlier. Harry resorted to the most lethal, destructive spells he had in his arsenal, fuelled by adrenaline and anger. The monsters suffered terribly, being blown into tiny pieces. Harry's magic when fuelled in such a manner was a terrifying sight to behold.

Finally, Mazhe was able to learn the the dragon shout from the word wall, and they Disapparated back to the Ragged Flagon. It was an unspoken agreement they would take a few hours before returning to Storn. Once there, Harry restored his chest to regular size and fetched his other two friends.

“What was—what are we doing back at the Flagon?” Justin questioned.

“It's done. We got to the word wall, and Mazhe learned the word there,” said Harry, with a snarl. “Bloody hell, the place was guarded by a dozen or so Draugr, skeletons, and worst of all, a dragon.”

“You took it on without fetching us?”

“Didn't have time, Tommy. Blasted thing saw us before we landed, it chased us around the mountain and then some,” Mazhe answered, “Harry got clever and lured it into a narrow gorge where it got stuck.”

“Love to see a pensieve memory of that. Guess we can't fault him, Justin.”

“C'mon, let's go grab a bite to eat and maybe a drink or two, before we go back to the Skaal village.”

After a few hours of down time, the four of them returned to the Skaal village, and told Storn about their visit to Saering's Watch. Storn seemed to be only partially pleased with that news, but pointed a finger toward the beam of green light just north of the settlement.

“You must cleanse the stone using the knowledge you now have from Saering's Watch. Doing so will free our people.”

With that done in short order (including killing a most bizarre creature that spawned in the middle of the shallow pool around the stone), they were then directed to seek out Neloth at Tel Mithryn. He would know more about the black books. He also asked Mazhe to clean the rest of the standing stones, and bring the earth back into balance. Mazhe only gave a nod, although not directly committing to dealing with it immediately. After being taunted by Miraak earlier, he'd at this point made dealing with him specifically the number one priority.

“Let's see Neloth tomorrow,” said Harry, “Gods... three battles this morning...”

“Don't tell me you're out of gas,” Tommy snorted, “We can all run nearly all day!”

“No... no, it's not that,” Harry answered, as they walked back toward the trunk, “Magically tired. I could take a magicka replenishing potion, but you know I don't like those all that much. And given the day's nearly spent as it is, let's take a rest, get cleaned up and refreshed, and start anew in the morning.”

“Storn said everything's reasonably safe at this point as it is,” Mazhe agreed, “Very well. Perhaps we should again return to the Flagon.”

That night, they did not retire until the early hours of the following morning, with Harry and Mazhe being more than happy to share pensieve memories of the crazy battles which took place at Saering's Watch. When he finally found sleep, he was treated to a most peculiar dream.

* * *

Harry found himself standing on the sand of an ancient arena, the late afternoon sun beating down heavily upon him and three other individuals occupying its confines. All three of them wore very little, save for something to cover their unmentionables, light armour to cover their feet and lower legs, and in the case of the smaller pair, what looked like ring mail armour covered their right arms. An enormous crowd stood, cheering madly at the brutal fight the three others were engaged in—though it seemed as though they did not see him. One of the combatants was a giant of a man, though perhaps nowhere near the size of Hagrid—he was still enormous. He was painfully white, with white hair, reddish-eyes, and scars—there were so many scars covering his body. The man had seen many, many battles, this much was certain. Worse still, he sported three very fresh, very deep wounds across his chest and midsection, wounds that would have felled a typical person—such as the pair who fought him.

The two others were nearly the same size, with the slightly larger man carrying a red shield, the other a blue one. It was clear right off, they were meant to work together against the much larger opponent. Harry had never seen such a contest before, let alone heard about it.

As the three combatants clashed, Harry found himself glancing around the arena, his eyes falling on some sort of paddock with bars which separated it from the arena floor. Behind them, he spotted a number of others, including a chocolate-skinned man with hard eyes, and a very fair-skinned man with very light blond hair.

It became clear the pair were not working as a team, as red seemed to be more interested in doing things alone. That would only end badly, Harry realized. Alone, no man could ever fight off a giant, not with the simple tools before them. Perhaps in another setting, with the advantage of stealth and shadow, but in open combat?

Harry's pessimistic assumption began to bear fruit, as the giant sliced red deeply across the chest diagonally down to his abdomen, and as the man spun around partially out of shock, the giant sliced him across the back. Red was out of the game, barely moving.

Blue was trying to do his best on his own, but the giant was just too much. By this point, Harry wanted nothing more than to escape this terrible scene, having already seen more than enough bloodshed for real. The giant slammed into blue, sending him crashing against the wall. The man looked dazed.

Surprisingly, blue staggered back up to his feet, and charged again, doggedly determined to see this through. Harry somewhat admired the man's courage, though perhaps it might also be considered foolishness. Obviously the giant did not go for the kill with red, so if blue stayed down—

Now THAT was a new one. Red had snatched up a nearby helmet and used it to reflect the sun into the giant's eyes, momentarily blinding him, and giving blue the opportunity he needed. A slice to the back of the legs sent the monster to his knees, and it was a viciousness Harry had never witnessed, as blue literally hacked the giant's head off his shoulders.

As the head began its gravity-assisted fall to the sand, everything seemed to grind to a halt, a dark cloud of eyes and tentacles taking shape where the giant's head should have been.

“Friend of my champion,” came the thick, syrupy voice of Hermaeus Mora, “Seek out the black book my champion has collected, so we may speak. I have a proposition which may be beneficial... to the both of us.”

Harry woke up, drenched with sweat, his heart thumping loudly in his ears.

* * *

The morning exercise was more like an exercise in futility, as the dream Harry had been party to was still fresh in his mind. Even trying to shuttle it off to the side with his Occlumency exercises had done little to push it aside. It was screaming, 'You have to deal with me before anything else'.

“Harry. What has you driven to distraction?” Tommy finally demanded, sounding frustrated.

“I... Hermaeus Mora visited me in my dreams—a strange dream at that,” Harry admitted.

“For real?”

“Shall I dig out my pensieve? No, never mind answering. Just...” He held up a hand, silently summoning his pensieve.

Harry did not join his friends as they viewed the memory, considering it was still very fresh in his head (if not somewhat dimmed from it being partially removed). If anything, he was still unsure of how to process this. A Daedric Prince had taken an interest in him. From Mazhe's warnings about the depravity of them, Harry was somewhat weary. Thing was, just perhaps, there might be a way of dealing with Voldemort once and for all. It might be worth the risk, to at least listen to what the Daedric Prince had to say.

“Gods, Harry. I thought you were joking,” said Mazhe, shaking his head.

“Harry. Whatever he wants... it's dangerous.”

“I know, Justin. Mazhe's warned me enough. Thing is, I can't just dismiss it either,” said Harry, as he collected the memory and summoned a small vial.

“It's a chance for Harry to be rid of the bastard once and for all. It's what the manipulative goat-fucker wants Harry do do in the end, right?”

That got a laugh out of Harry.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“If he said to read the black book... now we know that's the sort of thing will happen at any time we open one of them... come with me to see Neloth. We can both speak to Hermaeus Mora, since it seems he's involved with whatever Miraak is doing,” Mazhe reasoned, “That way you won't face him alone.”

* * *

Nchardak was a Dwemer ruin a short walk north of Tel Mithryn. Neloth had explained some of the detail behind the black books, and led them to the partially submerged ruin. Between the five of them, they made short work of the Reavers (as bandits were called on Solstheim) that had set up a camp there, as well as the denizens that existed within the ruin itself.

It had proved a complicated affair to access the black book encased in some sort of compartment in the floor—no amount of prying, magical or otherwise, would undo it. Hence, they were forced to search the ruin for control cubes that were then used to start up boilers hidden in another section of the ruin. That seemed to take several hours, before Neloth finally declared it done. A pressing of a switch had the compartment in the floor open, and the black book raised on a pedestal.

Neloth seemed rather pleased, but said, “At last. I hope it was worth it. Please... be my guest. You deserve the first look. Besides, it could be very dangerous. These books are known to drive many people insane.”

“Harry...” Mazhe indicated his friend take his hand.

“Keep an eye on us while we're gone,” said Harry, gripping his friend's hand tightly. Mazhe flipped the book open, and as expected, a dark tentacle emerged from the book, to ensnare them both.

Seconds later, the pair were standing in a place Harry had only heard about, but Mazhe had already experienced. The floors were made up of a dark lattice work, with stone arches, an acid sky, and dark acid water. A dark cloud of eyes and tentacles was forming in front of them, and it seemed to be duplicated several times over. One was enough as it was—Harry felt both physically and mentally naked in front of them.

“I know you, champion,” said Hermaeus Mora, “The Ohgma Infinium was just the beginning. This... is Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded.”

The eyes all blinked several times.

“Sate your thirst for knowledge... in the _endless_ stacks of my library. If you tire of your search, read your book again to return to your mortal life... for a time.”

The eyes again blinked several times.

“The lure of Apocrypha will draw you back. It's your fate.”

“Uh, sir... you--” Harry began, but the eyes blinked again rapidly.

“Save your questions until the end. We will meet then.” The clouds all vanished.

“Great. Looks like we're rats in a maze,” Harry muttered.

“Come on then. Looks like we need to get this bridge to... unfurl?” Mazhe knitted his eyebrows together in confusion.

Harry, meanwhile, was drawn to what looked like a flower. It had what looked like a bud at the end of it, and as Harry went to touch it, it dropped into the centre, and the entire thing snapped shut.

“Gods... whatever you did, it worked!” said Mazhe, impressed. The strange lattice-like bridge was unfurling itself, providing a way forward.

Their next surprise came as they travelled through a corridor that seemed to bend on its own, scattering pages about in the process. Mazhe had certainly seen the abominations before. It had two tails, what might have been a cloak, tentacles on its lower body, two human arms, and a head shaped like it was a starfish. The most frightening bit, was the strange mouth-like opening that formed its midsection. In it were rows and rows of teeth, forming concentric circles. It was truly an abomination. Worse still, were the magical attacks it unleashed. An attack from a pair of them set Harry and Mazhe down for several minutes to recuperate, consuming both a healing potion and a headache potion.

They also learned very quickly to stay away from the pools in the floor, as they seemed to contain rather aggressive tentacles that lashed out if they got too close. That had burned through several more healing potions. The realm was dark, confusing, disorienting, its own brand of hell. Harry silently pictured a few of his enemies enjoying the confines of such a place, and a smirk momentarily crossed his face. How would Dumbledore fare in such a place?

Mazhe estimated it took them about three hours to reach the other end, or 'chapters', as it were, as there were books laying open on pedestals which gave them a link to the next 'section'. And other books, too. Both were quite busy, snagging interesting-looking tomes from shelves and tables as they passed, but both realized that lingering too long would play right into the Daedric Prince's hand. So they pressed on, at last arriving at a large dais, on which there lay an identical copy of the black book they'd opened to land there. And, as Mazhe opened it, the cloud of eyes and tentacles once again appeared.

“Well done, my champion,” said Hermaeus Mora, sounding pleased, “Your journey towards enlightenment has finally led you here, to my realm, as I knew it would.”

“It has been... truly fascinating, sir,” said Mazhe, “What do you need of me?”

The eyes all blinked several times.

“I know why you're here, champion. You have sought out the forbidden knowledge that only one other has obtained.”

“Miraak,” said Harry.

“Indeed,” said Hermaeus Mora, the eyes blinking once in his direction. They turned back toward Mazhe. “You are _Dragonborn_ , like Miraak before you. A seeker of knowledge and power.”

“Eh, somewhat,” Mazhe answered, carefully, “But yes, I need to learn his secrets.”

“All he knows he learned from me.”

The eyes blinked several times, and Hermaeus Mora let out a chuckle.

“I know what you want: to use your power as _Dragonborn_ to bend the world to your will. Here then, is the knowledge you need...” he chuckled again, “Though you did not know you needed it.”

Mazhe felt a surge of power race through him, and with it, the whispers of a single word: _Hah_ —mind.

“The second word of power. Use it to bend the wills of mortals to your purpose.” The eyes blinked again. “But this, is not enough. Miraak knows the final word of power. Without that, you cannot hope to surpass him.

“Miraak served me well, and was rewarded. I can grant you the same power as he wields, but all knowledge has its price.”

“This is true,” Harry agreed, eliciting another chuckle from the Daedric deity.

“What is the price of this knowledge then? I will do my best to bring it to you,” Mazhe answered.

“Mazhe...”

“Whatever it takes, right?”

“Indeed,” said Hermaeus Mora, the eyes all blinking ominously, “You please me, champion. Your loyalty will be richly rewarded. The Skaal have withheld their secrets from me for many long years. The time has come for this knowledge to be added to my library.”

“Then I will speak to Storn, and bring you this knowledge you seek.”

“I know you will. And then I will give you the knowledge you seek. Send the Skaal shaman to me. He holds the secrets that will be mine.”

“How?”

“How did we get here, Mazhe?” Harry reminded him.

“Oh.”

“Uh, sir, you... asked to speak with me last night.”

“Indeed I did, friend of my champion.”

“It's Harry, sir.”

“Well then, Harry. As I seek the secrets held from me by the Skaal, I also seek the knowledge of your... adversary. Your... _Dark Lord_ has indulged in some most unique activities. This knowledge must also be added to my library.”

“You said this would could be beneficial to both of us. What did you mean by that?”

"I have collected the unwitting souls of mortals for ages, luring them here into my realm, enticing them with forbidden knowledge. It is only the matter of... _enticing_ one to read one of my books... such as you have done."

"You... you've trapped me here?!" Harry was alarmed, and if Mazhe were honest with himself, so was he.

The eyes blinked once. "Should I wish it to be, then yes. But no, Harry, that would not be productive, do you not agree?"

“I... yes. No... I mean...”

The eyes all blinked several times, and Hermaeus Mora let out another chuckle.

“The task then is simple, friend of my Champion. Have your Dark Lord read one of my books. I look forward to probing his thoughts and secrets.”

“If this truly works, you have my gratitude, and that of our world, sir.”

“Indeed.”

“Uh, sir. Another question. Can I entice anyone to be trapped here?”

Mazhe cringed at the predatory glint that appeared in his best friend's eye, while the Daedric Prince actually laughed.

“That is most... simple to arrange, indeed.” The eyes again turned to Mazhe. “You have a most valued companion, champion. We will indeed work wonders... together. Send me the shaman, and we will speak again.”

The clouds all vanished.

“Harry, you are absolutely off your nut, you know.”

“We're all just a little mad, aren't we? Besides, I have a rather short list of nasty individuals who deserve nothing better than eternity here. Can you not come up with a list of your own?”

“Harry, be careful. You could become trapped here just as easily!”

“I know that already, and I promise, I'll be careful. Now how do we get back?”

“Wait. Let me see... Gods, this will be really useful. Listen to this... _'Dragonborn Force: your Unrelenting Force shout does more damage and may disintegrate enemies'_.”

“That's brilliant.”

Mazhe nodded in agreement, then touched the spot on the page with a finger. An orange shade momentarily surrounded him, and as he began to fade, he said, “Just touch the book. It'll get us back to Nchardak.”

Harry followed suit, touching the book with a finger. He assumed it was something like a port key, and initially, he was right... until darkness swirled around him. He passed into the bliss of unconsciousness. Unseen by him, both the Elder Scroll and the small chain with the hourglass suspended in a hoop, both secure in his rucksack, shimmered a brilliant red for a moment, before falling still.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry finds himself injured amongst strangers, and quickly discovers none of his emergency devices work; using both spell and coin he takes up the offer of hospitality; and with the introduction of one particular individual in the household, Harry quickly learns exactly where he finds himself._   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: It may seem like I'm glazing over a bunch of things, but really. I'm sure you don't want to have three pages of the guys battling another dragon, right? That gets repetitive rather fast. I should also note, I will not detail much of Harry's actual training and such, I find that gets rather tedious and repetitive after a while as well. I find it's better to just touch on it periodically, with the results being put into action when it actually matters._   
> _As to Harry battling a dragon on the back of his broom, that was just a natural event that had to happen. Though in a different location than Harry's canon (Triwizard tournament). Had a lot of fun writing that scene._   
> _Now of course, one has to wonder, where's Harry going? And who's on that nasty list of his? Who will he be sending to Apocrypha? Then there's Voldemort... poor, poor, Voldemort. He knows not of the attention he's attracted._   
> _(1) The 1.9 patch for Skyrim has actually put an end to this happening. Most unfortunate, considering it was one of the more amusing glitches in the game._


	24. The Wizard, the Roman, and the Thracian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry finds himself injured amongst strangers, and quickly discovers none of his emergency devices work; using both spell and coin he takes up the offer of hospitality; and with the introduction of one particular individual in the household, Harry quickly learns exactly where he finds himself._

**24: THE WIZARD, THE ROMAN, AND THE THRACIAN**

**September 1, 2006 / Dates Unknown**

* * *

_1 September, 2006  
Undisclosed Location_

Dumbledore did not fear the group of individuals he now found himself amongst. However, this sort of meeting most certainly ate away at part of his conscience. Sure, he did keep telling himself, 'It's for the greater good', but really. Whose 'greater good'?

“Gentlemen, good of you all to come. Tea and biscuits, if you like.” He indicated the mentioned items at the centre of the table.

“We'll pass on the pleasantries,” said a hooded figure, “Our organization is most curious as to why you, such a strong symbol of the light side, would contact us.”

“Indeed, under normal circumstances, we would be facing each other on opposite sides of the battlefield,” Dumbledore agreed, planting himself in one of the seats. “However, it does appear as though we both have a common enemy in the Commonwealth of Valicadia.”

“Ah, yes, so it seems we do,” said another figure, who claimed a seat on the opposite side of the table. They all wore hoods which obscured their faces. Dumbledore's first guess is that they had connections to a faction similar to the Department of Mysteries, if he was correctly reading the kind of magic they gave off.

“If my sources are correct, you have already caused the Commonwealth several headaches, most recently being a year and a half ago.”

“I won't confirm nor deny that,” said the first, “For all we know, this could be a rather elaborate setup. Do know that, there is much at stake.”

“Oh, I do believe we can trust the old man,” said a third individual, a female. “Perhaps the paragon of the light side isn't as lily-white as he would like to believe. Recall, this is the very same individual who did use rather questionable magic, to trap and hold a rather powerful young wizard at Hogwarts against his will.”

“If you believe it so...” the first individual hissed.

“What I can offer, is resources. Naturally, this would be done without the knowledge of anyone outside this meeting,” said Dumbledore.

“And what exactly do you wish to achieve by this... most unorthodox alliance?” questioned the woman.

“It's quite simple. To inflict as much damage and chaos as you can muster. During that time, the I.C.W. will launch an offensive of its own based on some rather inaccurate information. An ideal circumstance will result in the crippling of the Commonwealth in such a way they will cease to be a credible threat.”

The woman leaned back in her seat, adjusting the hood to keep her anonymity.

“If everything goes according to plan,” she spoke with finality, “An I.C.W. response will be unnecessary. But we most certainly do welcome other resources, as it can only further ensure the success of our plan—which, regretfully, you cannot know of further details.”

“Naturally. I only make offer of resources,” said Dumbledore.

“I still have trouble accepting that you would just... work with a group such as ours. Surely, you realize, we work to a similar end as the Dark Lord,” said the first man.

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, and steeped his hands together.

“Then you also equally realize, we may indeed be on opposite sides of the battlefield one day. For now, as I mentioned at the beginning of this meeting, we do have a common enemy. One I would like to see squashed.”

* * *

_Unknown Location_

As he slowly came back to semi-awareness, Harry could make out a number of voices gathered around him, speaking in low tones. The language was foreign, so it took him a few minutes to finally pick up what was being said. Harry thanked the Gods for the special translation charm the Commonwealth's Arcane Sciences Division had placed on him. It had been applied not long before Harry had been sent to Skyrim.

“English, or the _Common language_ as they call it, isn't the only language spoken in Tamriel,” Guardian Elaine had explained, “Unspeakable Orthos will be applying an advanced translation charm. It's commonly used by diplomats and other such representatives for when they work abroad.”

“This will allow you to quickly pick up a foreign language and be able to speak it near-fluently within a matter of minutes.”

“So far, there's been no language the charm has failed to translate,” said Orthos, a rather short fellow in a deep-blue shaded robe. He also wore a matching hood which obscured his features.

The spell had felt funny, making his tongue and vocal chords tingle for several minutes. It had been very much worth it, though, certainly shocking more than a few individuals back in Skyrim. Meeting the goblins on one occasion had been entertaining as well, come to think of it. The translation wasn't perfect, but it most certainly caught the rather rude teller off guard.

Now, as he lay uncomfortably on what felt like a stone slab, the voices were making more sense... though it sounded as though they were about finished.

“...Continue to see to his injuries. I would break words with him when he wakes.”

Harry could hear a gate opening to his left.

“Yes, Dominus.”

People were shuffling out, and if his perception was right, the only person left lay on a slab directly beside his own. Harry hoped his arrival wasn't the reason behind his stay. Even without opening his eyes, it was an easy guess as to where he was.

He lay there for several minutes, just to be sure, before finally opening his eyes. The room was dimly lit, with a number of torches casting only a flickering glow across it. His perception had not deceived him, and indeed, there was now only one occupant, laid out on the slab beside him. On a table in between the two slabs, rested a number of containers. Harry guessed they likely contained medicines.

Focusing back on himself, he made a quick assessment. His ribs really hurt—likely cracked—he knew the difference. Broken, it was damn near impossible to breathe without excruciating pain. A broken arm, if the rough excuse for a splint was any indication. His insides all hurt, and now... his head felt weird.

That lead to only one explanation. He'd been slammed into something with great force—likely the ground, given what he'd been doing just before. The book had worked something like a port key—at least that was Harry's assumption. The question, then: what had happened to send him so far off course? Yes, the books were the property of a Daedric Prince. Thing was, Hermaeus Mora had given Harry a task, and so it was unlikely said Daedric Prince would immediately put him in harm's way.

The immediate concern was the injuries. A few healing charms would fix things enough for him to access his chest and the healing potions inside, which would most certainly do a better job. He worked quickly, and within a minute, he was able to sit up, swing his legs over the side of the slab, and stand up. The world was still a little sideways, but Harry fished in his rucksack—once again thanking the gods for the charms which prevented its removal—and retrieved his miniaturized chest. It was placed in an open corner, and returned to proper size.

Once inside, he retreated to his room, and accessed the potions cabinet. Within a few minutes, a few healing potions had done the job, and he no longer felt the ringing sensation about the head. Now, he could concentrate on the more pressing matter.

'The guys are probably in a right state about now,' he thought to himself, as he pulled out his mobile, with the intention of contacting Mazhe first. Unfortunately, the dreaded 'no service' message greeted him. So he was outside of Skyrim altogether, then? But no, that wouldn't make sense either. According to Justin, the cellular system worked through magic, and therefore should work just about anywhere in Tamriel—even underground, something the mundane system did not do well. Perhaps, something was interfering with the connection there, then. It was the best reason Harry could come up with at the time being.

'Plan B, then,' he thought, reaching to press the red button which activated the emergency port key. He loathed the idea of returning to the Commonwealth—he was still furious with the lot, given what they'd done to Tommy. It would be a long time before he would consider forgiving them. He knew he would eventually need to get back to the world he belonged in, but for now... they could all hang. He would return to the HMS Ragnar (the port key's programmed destination), then find a way back to Skyrim.

Unfortunately, the port key refused to fire, causing even more alarm. According to Justin, the port keys were programmed by the Arcane Sciences Division, the Commonwealth's equivalent to the English Department of Mysteries. The port key was guaranteed to work from any place, ignoring wards, even. Only thing that could interrupt it, was something which completely suppressed all magic in the area.

Just to be sure, he cast a light charm—then shook his head, realizing he was being stupid. Suppression of all magic in the area, would have broken a good number of things, including just about everything in his chest. He didn't know about such ward, but it was a fair guess that it would require an enormous amount of power to cast, likely from a number of individuals. No way a single person could cast such magic.

“ _Tempus_ ,” he whispered, and '5:21 a' briefly appeared at the end of his index finger. Near dawn, then. He wouldn't have time to look around. For now, he decided to return to the slab he'd been laying on. He would get his answers on where he was then.

He returned to the slab just in time, hearing voices approaching the room. Now that he was in a somewhat better state, he didn't pretend to be asleep, simply laying there with hands folded across his chest. Perhaps he might have been better to just listen for a while, but no, he needed to know where he was, so he could get back to where he belonged. 'Gods, they're probably going absolutely nuts about now,' he thought.

Only seconds after, a pair of individuals entered the room. One for some reason reminded him of Filch, oily and weedy-looking. The other had skin as dark as the night, and virtually screamed, 'mess with me at your peril.' The weedy man seemed somewhere between surprised and alarmed that Harry was awake already.

“Your eyes should not have opened,” he said.

“I never cared for long stays in the hospital,” Harry answered, attempting to sit up. The weedy man put a hand on his chest, holding him down.

“You must remain at rest.”

“Trust me, my injuries were easily treated. Your initial treatments were much appreciated.” Harry flexed his now fully healed arm. “I've suffered far worse injury than what I suffered when I arrived here. That's the first question—I do hope my arrival isn't the reason for the man laying injured on the other table.”

“No, his injuries were sustained in the arena,” answered the dark-skinned man. “You simply fell out of the sky to land in the midst of our training square.”

“Fall from height. Yeah, that would do it. Not the first time.”

“And what circumstance would present itself, for you to be at such a height?”

“It's complicated,” Harry answered, “Circumstances I'm yet not really able to understand myself at this point. Given my experiences up to now, it really doesn't surprise me.”

He sat up. The room was becoming brighter, as the morning light was now brighter than the number of torches in the room. The room was sparse, with earthen walls, and heavy wood beams forming the ceiling. There were two doors on opposite walls, one which led outside.

“How is it you have managed to recover from such injuries in such a short time?” the weedy-looking man questioned.

“That too, is complicated. The only thing I can tell you, is that I have certain abilities that allow me to heal myself. If not, I would have been dead a long time ago. I'm Harry, by the way.”

Further conversation was interrupted, as two people entered the room. One was dressed somewhat like an Imperial soldier—though the armour was different than what he'd seen in the past. A different part of the continent, then? The empire certainly had its reach, even fractured as it was.

The other man was a little shorter than the first, sporting several days' growth. He wore very little, save for a cloth which covered up his private parts, and a tattered sash draped over his shoulder, held in place by a leather strap. He wore some sort of brace on his right leg, and walked with a limp.

“Dominus asks of the man's condition,” he said.

'Dominus,' Harry thought. A very old term, one of which he couldn't remember the meaning. Hermione would know. But she wasn't exactly here at the moment, now, was she?

“You can tell them I'm perfectly fine,” Harry answered, causing the newcomer to nearly jump in surprise. “I gather the person who asks of my condition is someone in charge?”

“He is our Dominus, the owner of this ludus,” the dark-skinned man answered.

'Ludus', Harry repeated in his head. Yet another term, this one he'd not heard before.

“I'll need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

“Go. Inform Dominus of this.” It was more of an order this time, and the newcomer was escorted out. The interaction was not lost on Harry, as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. _Dominus... Dominae..._ dominate. These people were slaves.

A half-hour later, Harry found himself escorted by another soldier and the dark-skinned man up to what was clearly an office, decorated much more lavishly than the lower part of the house—Harry assumed it was a house. The man standing on the opposite side of the table wore an expensive set of robes. He was older, perhaps middle age, but definitely not elderly, and Harry's initial read of the man painted him as a man in love with his coin. Clearly, whatever he did, made him lots of it.

“Our unexpected guest at last joins us,” he said, evenly, seeming to appraise the man who had somehow fell from the sky late the previous afternoon.

“It's Harry, uh, sir,” Harry answered, unsure how to address the man. He let out a sigh. “My apologies for the bizarre arrival yesterday. Gods... stuff like this could only happen to me. I have the worst luck at times.”

“Your arrival was most certainly... unusual,” the dark-skinned man agreed.

“If not for your injuries, we would be having this discussion in a cell,” said the well dressed man.

“Given I am a stranger, that would be understandable. Again, my apologies. Gods... my friends are likely going spare about now. I've been here since yesterday afternoon?”

“It is so.”

“Where do I now find myself?”

“I am Quintus Lintulus Batiatus. You find yourself in my villa, in my ludus, the finest in the republic,” the man answered, dramatically sweeping an arm wide.

“Thank you for the hospitality. As I have already thanked your healer. Yet, I can see you might be a little more appreciative, if I offer some sort of compensation for the disruption.”

Harry reached into his rucksack—noting the guards' hands all reached down to the hilts secured to their waist belts—and withdrew two gold ingots, placing them on the counting table that separated the two men.

“I know your currency is likely not mine, but this should clear up your idea of where I might fit in terms of wealth—though this truly means nothing to me..”

Batiatus was most definitely surprised, as he picked up one of the ingots.

“Solid gold?”

“With few impurities,” Harry answered, “The smelting facilities I have access to aren't sophisticated enough to make one hundred percent pure ingots.”

Batiatus simply waved a hand.

“It's a negligible argument that is not worth pursuing. How can House Batiatus be of assistance?”

“With a bit of luck, I won't be here long. I'm actually quite self-sufficient, so I won't need to intrude on your hospitality—“

“I would have you join us—no, I insist,” said Batiatus, “My villa is open to you for as long as required.”

“Your offer is much appreciated, sir.”

Batiatus gestured to a barely clothed woman nearby. “Show him to a guest room and attend.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

Sometime later, as Harry sat at a table, writing out a letter to his likely worried friends, Batiatus appeared, along with the dark-skinned man, and the one with the limp.

“We go to visit the market. Perhaps, you might like to come along,” Batiatus offered.

“Thank you for the offer, but, I, uh... it's better if I stay close to the house. My friends will surely be looking for me by now.”

“Ah, understood.”

With that, the three of them turned and headed off, though Harry could hear the dark-skinned man questioning whether it was wise to leave a stranger in the house. Harry could understand the point. In Batiatus' shoes, he would be, too. Then again, the place was clearly well-protected (not that their protection would really stop Harry, if he were to become a threat).

Harry turned back to his letter. How again had something like this happened? He was obviously not only outside of Skyrim, but outside of Tamriel altogether. The people he found himself among were from Earth. This much he was certain of... Romans. Pre-common-era... if his history was right.

His thoughts were interrupted, as a woman stepped into the room, being attended by servants. Her hair was a deep red, and she bore aristocratic features. Obviously an important member of the household—ah, Batiatus' wife, Harry quickly learned, picking up some of her thoughts. His Occlumency training had progressed to the point that he was learning its reciprocal, Legilimency. Against someone who was trained in Occlumency was still proving very difficult; against someone who was not (or in this case, someone who was not magical), on the other hand, was a piece of cake.

His subtle dive into her thoughts during the conversation actually made him uncomfortable. Though she was married to Quintus, her thoughts lingered on the man laying injured in the infirmary. She'd been to visit him several times already, and more alarming, she'd invited him into her bed on numerous occasions before he came to be injured. Harry silently muttered to himself. The woman was not there just for conversation.

Luckily, an opportunity presented itself for him to escape, in this instance, the necessity to visit a chamber pot. Lucretia was only happy to show him the way, and Harry mentally groaned at the unwanted attention. The idea was to escape her clutches, sooner rather than later.

Her personal servant, a woman named Naevia, somewhat saved the day, drawing her away to another part of the villa. Harry made a note to somehow thank the young woman in the future. After the encounter with Lucretia, Harry felt the sudden urge to go drown in the shower. Gods, the woman was old enough to be his _grandmother_!

With that interaction and the resulting discomfort, Harry decided he would rather return to the infirmary, rather than endure more unwanted attention from Batiatus' wife. Last thing he wanted to do was cause undue friction, or offend people in the villa.

Since it was still raining heavily outside, Harry was content to set up in a corner of the infirmary, though he at first took the opportunity to look in on the injured man, which he now knew his name: Crixus, the former champion of the arena. Now that he'd gotten a good look at the man, he was startled, as he realized it was one of the men from the dream he had not long ago. This was the man with the red shield, the wounds the result of the terrible slashes from the giant. Indeed, it was a miracle he still lived.

Seeing no one was around—the healer seemed to be elsewhere at the moment, Harry cast the strongest healing magic he knew of. There was no way he could completely heal the injuries, given the severity. However, the spells would certainly go a long way to helping things along.

With the initial shock wearing off, Harry resumed penning a lengthy letter updating his friends on what was going on. At first, Harry considered this might still be some sort of plan or game hatched by Hermaeus Mora. After all, it had been during the strange dream of Crixus' fight that the Daedric prince had appeared.

Then again, he mused, it still didn't make a lot of sense. What benefit would Hermaeus Mora get in sending him thousands of years into the past, outside of Tamriel—back to Harry's own world, if he considered it? No, something else was at play here. He really needed his friends' opinion on things. A second note needed to be sent; maybe either Tolfdir or Urag might have some perspective on the situation.

He ended up writing three different letters. One to Mazhe, one to Justin, while the last one went to Urag, with the request to show it to Tolfdir and the other experienced mages at the College. Of course, the other letters specified to get help from whatever sources they might think of. Harry was not getting anything accomplished trapped two thousand years into the past.

Once again making sure no one was around (at least no one conscious—Crixus didn't count at this point), Harry retrieved the special post box he'd bought several years earlier, and dropped the letters inside. The twin had been left with Brynjolf now, since most of their time was spent in and about the Guild these days. Thing was, Brynjolf had a mobile, and would be able to get in contact with the others. Justin would be able to make a port key and get everyone back to the Guild, and things would go from there. With luck, he would be back where he belonged in a matter of hours.

Much to his relief, the three letters instantly vanished, meaning the connection still worked. He shrunk the box down and stowed it away. Now he just had to wait. With that in mind, he pulled out a level four Arithmency textbook. Stuck in the past or not, he still had an education to keep up with. Justin had already started laying out the course plan for the tenth grade, as well as his level six magic, thanks to Sir Malcolm Davis institute. He was interrupted briefly a short time later, when the healer returned. The weedy man only cast a glance in Harry's direction, before attending to Crixus.

Another interruption came a short time later, when Lucretia practically barged into the room, Naevia and a pair of guards following in her wake. She cast a glance toward Harry, but made a hasty path toward the slab where Crixus lay.

“Should his eyes not be opened?” she questioned, glancing toward the healer.

“Calm is needed to heal the wound. I keep him at rest with herb,” the healer answered, evenly, indicating a table beside the slab. There were a number of jars containing various medicines and herbs.

“Will he recover?”

“I have done what I can. It rests in the hands of the gods.”

“No,” Lucretia snapped, becoming predatory, “His life now rests in your hands. And I will see them parted from your fucking body should he die.”

Harry arched an eyebrow as she swept out of the room. He had no doubt she could back up her words with action. Lucretia was now beyond imposing to Harry; she was bordering on scary, and for the wrong reasons.

Naevia lingered a little longer, casting a worried glance toward Crixus.

“He will be just fine,” Harry dared say, “He just needs time.”

“Gratitude,” said Naevia, giving a weak smile, before she hastily left to catch up with her mistress.

Harry, meanwhile, closed up his textbook and stuffed it back in his rucksack. Since it was clear Lucretia had an interest in hanging around, perhaps it was better to find yet another spot to study. He ventured through the outer door, which led out into the square, where the men were training, even in the near torrential rain. There was an overhang from the balcony which provided some shelter from the rain, and ample room to sit and study. Perhaps now he wouldn't be disturbed.

Unfortunately, the activity in the square in itself was a distraction. All of the men were more than fit, and more than capable fighters. Of course, being the nature of gladiators, it was that, or die, rather simple. Though his coverage of the period had been brief, he did remember covering the topic. It had been a long-standing staple within the republic. Owners of a ludus were incredibly wealthy, although rather low on the opinion poll.

His thoughts were interrupted, as a young dark-skinned young man approached him.

“Water, if you please,” he said, offering a flask.

“Thank you.”

“I was sent to attend to your needs.”

“Well, uh, thank you... though I really don't require anything. I'm Harry.”

“Pietros,” said the boy. Harry guessed he was perhaps a couple of years older than himself at best. Definitely not a gladiator, then. A servant.

“Do you fight?”

“I can. Though I haven't fought in the style of your friends here. And yes, if you're wondering, I've most definitely seen combat. I know what it's like to be in a fight for your life. How come you don't train with them?” Harry asked.

“I see to the gladiators' needs.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Pietros! Water!” came a shout from the opposite side of the square. Harry zeroed in on the source, noting it was a balking man with a malicious smirk across his face.

“Look after your friend. But I'd love to talk more later. Come find me when you're not busy.”

“I would like that.”

Sometime later, the gates to the square were opened by the guards, admitting Batiatus, the dark-skinned man from much earlier, the one with the limp, and another man, who was dressed in a rather unique set of armour. The chest plate featured a set of opposing serpents. As Harry stood up, they locked eyes, and he could see the intensity blazing behind them. Whoever this was, he'd most certainly earned the armour he now wore.

“Harry, most opportune we find you here,” said Batiatus, warmly, “I would introduce to you the new champion of Capua, _Spartacus_!”

Harry hid his shock well. Now, he knew exactly where, and more importantly _when_ , he found himself in. Over two thousand years into the past, 73 or 74 before common era. When did the third Servile war happen again? 73 BCE. Likely then, it was the summer of 73 BCE. Wonderful, he snarked in his head, as he offered a hand in the traditional way of a handshake.

“I'm Harry.”

Spartacus looked at the hand, momentarily confused at what the stranger was doing. Then it dawned on him, and he corrected the gesture (gripping forearm to forearm).

“Forgive the confusion, my brothers tell me you suffered severe injury from your fall.”

“I have unique ways in dealing with my wounds,” Harry answered, coolly, as the group moved toward the entrance to the lower part of the house.

“Come with us,” said Batiatus, “We will be entertaining the magistrate and his son, there are preparations to make.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Harry mentally cursed himself, knowing he would once again have to bear the uncomfortable gaze of Lucretia.

The magistrate and his son actually didn't arrive until the early evening, the sun already sitting low in the western sky. A discreet _tempus_ charm revealed it was nearing 8 o'clock. Batiatus had wasted no time introducing Harry to Calavius, Capua's magistrate. He was a tall, elderly man with thinning, white hair. His son, Numerius, was a gangly teenager who would see his 15 th birthday in the months ahead.

Now, the boy sparred with Spartacus while the rest of the adults hovered around food and drink. A few guards were close at hand, but all were relaxed, seemingly equally entertained by the sparring session. He was somewhat clumsy with the wooden sword in his hand, and as he attempted to parry he missed, the sword rattling across the floor, coming to rest at Harry's feet.

“I have no hand in this!” Numerius cried, frustrated.

Spartacus nodded toward the boy's cumbersome belt.

“Your belt and adornments. They hinder your purpose.”

“Your armour is heavy and yet you move swiftly,” Numerius challenged.

“In time, so will you. But a true warrior needs only a sword to cleave his fate.”

“Armour does help, but Spartacus is correct,” Harry agreed, “Leave your things at my feet, I will watch over them for you.”

“Gratitude,” said Numerius, as he undid the belt, and left it at Harry's feet. Harry passed him back the wooden sword.

“Are we right?”

“I see your meaning,” Numerius agreed, turning his eyes back to Spartacus, “Let us go again. Play Theokoles, and I will attempt to bring the rains...”

Harry could only give a sad smile, seeing the boy act out a fantasy with someone he saw as a hero. Though in reality, to be in such a fight was no laughing matter. He quietly lamented the fact that even as a boy, Harry had fought for real. It was likely that Numerius had never witnessed real combat, or been in a situation where it was kill or be killed.

He was pulled out of his musing as Naevia offering him a goblet of wine.

“Thank you.”

“And how have you come to be in the company of Batiatus?” Calavius questioned.

“A most unusual accident, sir. Something that I myself have difficulty explaining. Batiatus has been most accommodating given the circumstances. I am much appreciative.” He glanced toward the boy. “Your son's picking up the art of the sword rather quickly. He might make a fine warrior one day.”

“Born of a fascination with gladiators. His fifteenth birthday approaches, and my ears are assaulted with request for a pair to show demonstration at his party. I had thought to engage Solonius' men, but his wares have fallen from fashion since...” he turned eyes toward Batiatus, “Spartacus' victory over Theokoles.”

“It seems your son has a taste for what is in favour,” Batiatus commented.

“And I would see him well fed.”

“Come, then. Let us negotiate a price of the meal.”

The pair were about to move off into the business office, but they were intercepted by two guards escorting a messenger.

“Begging pardon, Dominus. I bring word of great import to Magistrate Calavius.”

He passed over a sealed scroll to the magistrate. Calavius cracked open the seal, and read the message quietly to himself.

“An important man, seldom out of reach of public matters,” Batiatus commented.

Calavius, meanwhile, stiffened, clearly upset by the message.

“The matter strikes more personal. Ovidius' boy yet lives!”

At that, the room grew quiet, Numerius breaking off the sparring session.

“Is it true?” the boy asked, his eyes full of excitement.

“The news is fantastic. How can it be?” Lucretia shared a concerned look with her husband, something not lost on Harry. If anything, this news seemed to upset them. Why would they want the boy dead?

“By Jupiter's blessing. He was discovered miles north of Capua, wandering the road!” Calavius declared.

“What of his words? Did he describe the horrors? How he came to survive—“

“Details not yet clear,” Calavius answered hastily, “Numerius, come!”

Numerius, obviously overjoyed by the news, hastily made to follow.

“Do not forget your things,” Spartacus reminded him, stooping down to collect the belt and adornments for the boy.

“Gratitude for the lesson, it was an honour—“

“Numerius!”

Harry watched the pair leave, being escorted by the two guards. And, while Batiatus and his wife retreated to the office, another guard stepped forward to escort Spartacus back down to the ludus. Harry decided to follow, rather than find out exactly what was going on. Being displaced two thousand years into the past, he knew he had to be careful. The Commonwealth had been very careful in explaining the dangers of such things when he obtained a certain device a couple of years prior.

The ludus appeared to be much busier than it had been earlier, with a lot more people around. Rather scantily-clad, come to think of it. And wine. There were casks of wine, and everyone seemed to have cups in their hands.

“A celebration of some sort?”

“In celebration of my victory in the arena against Theokoles,” Spartacus answered, as the gate up to the house was locked behind them.

"The white giant? Gods, your fight was truly impressive. Unfortunate Crixus was injured so badly. I've lent a bit of my, uh... skill so he should heal a little faster."

"Gratitude. We do not yet meet eyes, yet I still call him brother."

Harry frowned a moment, catching a glimpse of the plot Spartacus was hatching.

“The wine and, uh, lady friends are not just for celebration though. Not that I would ever get in the way of your plot—" He held up a hand, forestalling argument. "I have ways of knowing things I shouldn't. Equally, I don't thing any one man is better than another. To have people treated like common slaves, Gods..."

“Gratitude.”

The conversation was interrupted, as another gladiator approached them, two cups in hand. He was very fair skinned, with white-blond hair. Harry remembered seeing him in his dream as well.

“Varro... this is Harry.”

“Uh, pleasure,” Harry grinned, offering a forearm, remembering the proper greeting. It was reciprocated.

“You have recovered from your fall yesterday?”

“Completely, yes.”

“Harry seems to be able to discover things he should not.”

“He knows about—“

“I know why the ladies and wine are present, yes. But it's not my business to interfere with your plans. You do know that, if you're caught, it will likely mean a painful death.”

“My plans do not involve Varro's help, nor yours,” said Spartacus, rather firmly, with resolve. “I will see myself and my wife free of this place.”

“Or die trying,” said Varro, darkly, “Tomorrow the men will be slow from drink.” He cast his eyes toward a group of guards, also consuming drinks. “Half the guards with them.”

“Gods... where I come from, it would mean dismissal. Drinking on the clock, I think my friend called it.”

“There is one that does not partake in your joyous offerings...”

Both Spartacus and Harry followed Varro's eyes to the dark-skined man, who wandered the hall without either drink or company.

“A man of higher principle, not so easily distracted.”

Harry sighed, reaching into his satchel. “I'm probably damning myself to the ninth circle of hell, but... here. A few drops from this vial should do the trick. He won't be seen for at least ten hours or so. Just a few drops are needed—any more and you might actually kill him... and I doubt you actually want to do that. Bring me back what remains, it's all I have.”

“Gratitude.”

Spartacus gave Harry a grateful nod, then hastily left, in search of the black man.

“You should not aid his plot, it will only end in death.”

“Perhaps,” Harry agreed, “But perhaps not. I'm able to help in a small way, and wish him the best of luck. May the gods watch over him with a ready sword. For now, let's find some of that wine...”

Sometime later, Harry was barely able to keep his eyes open, and everything seemed to be spinning. The wine had been rather cheap, but by the gods, it packed one hell of a punch. He found another cup pressed into his hand, and a rather lewd song reached his ears:

“ _The blood rains down from an angry sky;_

_His cock rages on, his cock rages on;_

_'till death is found, his sword swinging hot;_

_His cock standing hard, his cock standing hard;”_

* * *

Harry regained consciousness just after dawn, though his head immediately protested the waking reality. The world was still sideways, and Harry realized the first thing he needed was an anti-hangover draught. He rummaged around in his satchel, locating the required bottle, and consumed the nasty contents inside. It didn't seem to matter which world the potion came from, they always tasted nasty, some worse than others. In particular, the anti-hangover draught. Perhaps it was meant as a deterrent for getting into such a state in the first place. Harry shrugged mentally, and got to his feet.

If the corridor was any indication, the entire ludus was in disarray. Men were passed out in many corners, as were a good number of guards. Cups, and the remains of food littered the ground, spills, stains, blood... Dobby would have a field day if he were present...

Wait.

“Dobby,” Harry called, to no one in particular.

Unfortunately, several minutes ticked by without the elf showing up, so Harry realized that indeed, he was truly cut off from everyone he knew. With that depressing fact, he made his way outside into the square. It was most frustrating.

Outside, he saw a man collecting a number of the ladies, and a few men, loading them onto several carts. It was likely they were slaves as well, the man handling them likely the owner.

Spotting Spartacus and Varro standing at the edge of the cliff, the only open side of the square, he joined them.

“You're looking well,” said Varro, “Jupiter's cock, my head...”

“Here. This should help, though I warn you, it tastes like... well... it's awful, but it works,” Harry grinned, producing a second vial of anti-hangover draught. Varro accepted the vial, popped the lid, and drank the contents, only to make a disgusted face.

“You tell no lie. I fear for asking what might be in it.”

That drew a wicked smirk from the boy.

“No. You don't want to know. But... how's your head now?”

“Cured of that which ailed me. Gratitude. Though one might believe that sort of thing designs to discourage the action it is intended to alleviate.”

Harry snickered.

“My thoughts exactly. Though, I won't be offering any further potions. The ludus is in chaos this morning. I doubt very many people will be up and about with any hurry before noon.”

He glanced around, seeing a few men just coming to, but not having a lot of interest in moving. The last of the prostitutes were making their way out through the gate—which had no guards on duty.

“You could quite literally walk out the gate, and I doubt anyone would notice.”

“I wait for the arrival of my wife,” Spartacus answered, “She comes by cart this morning. Only then do I move to purpose.”

“And now it becomes a little more clear.”

“Even should you ride beyond the gates, the guards will pursue,” said Varro.

“They will be commanded against such action,” Spartacus answered firmly.

Varro actually laughed. “You really expect them to obey you?”

“No. I expect them to obey their master,” said Spartacus, seeming to be swept into a momentary daydream. “While I have a blade pressed to his throat. I will release him when we are in the cover of the mountains.”

“Spartacus!”

The three of them turned to see Batiatus looking down at them from the balcony, smiling broadly.

“Your wife's cart appears upon the road. I will join you presently!”

He turned, and stepped back inside, and it was only then Varro let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

“I urge you to reconsider one last time.”

“Sura will be free. In this life, or the one after, with her husband by her side.”

“May the gods see you both upon the plains of Thrace,” Varro answered, as they gripped forearms. He then did the same with Harry.

“I'll seal the gate leading up into the villa once Batiatus comes down. May the gods watch over you with a ready sword, friend.”

The pair of them watched as Spartacus crossed the square for his cell, for perhaps the final time.

“You provide aid yet again.”

“If only to increase the odds in his favour. There are things that will happen in the future that in many ways depend on his survival.”

“You know the future?”

“I have seen things. But I can't tell you exactly what, or how. Doing so could be disastrous. Just as much as him being killed here and now could be disastrous.”

Varro furrowed his brow, appearing confused.

“You should see to the gate.”

“Right.”

Harry could see a cart approaching the gate. A pair of guards had taken up station there, but neither of them appeared to be in any shape to really do anything if the situation called for it. Spartacus would easily escape, Batiatus providing the unwitting means. It was bold, insane, and brilliant, all rolled in one.

Stepping into the mess hall filled with half-asleep, hungover men, Harry disillusioned himself, and followed the corridors back to the gate leading up into the villa. Batiatus was just coming down, along with a single guard. He let them step through, before casting a strong locking charm on the lock. They would need tools to get it open—and most definitely slow any sort of reinforcements from causing a problem.

Perhaps, it could be viewed as interference, but Harry knew from what little history he knew of the man, Spartacus had to escape the ludus. Of course, at this point, he was unaware that escape actually happened much further down the road, as the time line went. So it was, he lent his support to see the operation through.

His promise of assistance now completed, Harry followed silently behind as Batiatus made his way out to the cart, which had come to a stop in the square. Still disillusioned, Harry made his way to the cart, and it became very apparent that something was terribly wrong.

Equally alarming, the dark-skinned man was crossing the square with purpose—how in the world had he managed to withstand the powerful sleeping potion? He moved to intercept Spartacus, who was also crossing the square, but was intercepted by Varro, if momentarily. He simply shoved the fair-skinned man out of the way, but the distraction had already served its purpose.

Thing was, Spartacus was also realizing something was wrong, pausing from drawing something from his forearm guard—a knife, likely. Batiatus was already talking to the injured driver.

“Attacked on the road,” he was muttering, “They came out of nowhere.”

But Spartacus was no longer focused on Batiatus and the injured driver. He was instantly at the back of the cart—Harry had followed, cancelling the disillusionment charm.

“Gods...” he muttered, seeing the carnage that lay concealed by the cover. Everyone, be it slave or guards, lay slaughtered inside. Only one remained alive... the single individual the operation had centred around.

“Here... let's get her on the ground.”

Spartacus looked numb and stricken, as they pulled the terribly injured woman from the cart, and lay her on the ground. Her throat had been slashed, among other terrible injuries. No matter the amount of skill Harry had, there was absolutely nothing he could do for her.

“I'm sorry...” he whispered, simply, as Spartacus cradled his wife's head in his lap. She managed to reach up and touch his cheek, but she had been forever silenced, unable to speak his name.

“Kynareth watch over you this day as you pass through her realm. May the gods bless you and keep you,” Harry whispered. She smiled at his words, but her eyes found her husband one last time, as the life drained out of her. Her arm fell to the ground. She was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: A funeral is held for Spartacus' wife; Harry receives training of a different sort; a visit to Capua's arena; ...and the villa has some unwanted guests, putting Harry's magical knowledge to the test._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Why Spartacus? Why not? I need not say, that yes, most definitely, there is a reason I've dropped Harry here. Now, although Spartacus most certainly existed (as did many of the people so far mentioned), I draw from the STARZ original series, “Spartacus: Blood and Sand”. Suffice to say, there will be a fair bit of coarse language, and some violence (though descriptions and such will be kept to a minimum—the show was incredibly violent, and I'd rather not press things and end up having to boost the story rating)._   
> _As to how long Harry's actually here, it might be a while. Again, there is a few things he has to accomplish, and most certainly, there are a few lessons he needs to learn._


	25. New Friends, Unexpected Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A funeral is held for Spartacus' wife; Harry receives training of a different sort; a visit to Capua's arena; ...and the villa has some unwanted guests, putting Harry's magical knowledge to the test._

# 25: NEW FRIENDS, UNEXPECTED COMPANY

Dates Unknown, 73 BCE  


* * *

Sura's funeral was held at sunset, the day having been spent preparing the funeral pyre. All the gladiators were present, as were all the guards, in a solemn and touching tribute. Batiatus certainly didn't have to be so accommodating, considering Spartacus was a slave. Yet, he handled the situation kindly and properly... perhaps the action of a good man.

As Varro helped Spartacus to light the fire, Harry found himself lost in the memory of a similar scene that played out nearly a year prior, with the funeral for Savos Aren. In both instances, Harry couldn't help but be angry at the senselessness of it. Then, the College had lost a great man. Now, a friend had lost his wife, his love. Spartacus was just going through the motions of things, a ghost of himself. Had something changed? What would it mean for the future, if that was the case? What if the man truly gave up? He mentally shuddered at the ramifications.

He made a silent promise to himself to make sure that didn't happen. Offer whatever support necessary to the Thracian man. He'd already saved one man from the brink, this would be no different. Of course, it would be much more difficult without access to someone like healer Ferris... she had worked miracles when it came to Tommy's issues.

No matter what, at this point, Harry saw it as a mission to stave off disaster. He mentally kicked himself for not having any of his major history books. None of that material was stored in his trunk; most were stored in his Gringotts vault.

Sometime later, Harry made his way into the baths to have a word with the man, only to find him already in conversation with Batiatus. He listened in momentarily, before moving on with the intent to head back out into the square.

Unfortunately, that route took him by the cell Pietros occupied, and as he passed by, he discovered Pietros was not alone. Another gladiator had pushed his way into the cell, and was manhandling the younger man. Harry's first instinct was to intervene.

No, he realized, doing anything along that line would only piss off the household, and likely the other gladiators. Unsettled by the scene, he hurried out into the square, where the remnants of the fire were being cleaned up by house slaves. Helping to clean up would take his mind off the disturbing scene he'd just witnessed, but it would bring back the other, equally disturbing scene that had played out earlier that morning. The place he found himself in was truly distressing, in a number of ways.

After spending the night in the guest room assigned to him, he entered the chest before sunrise, determined to get back on the training schedule he had been working by. It seemed so many things had disrupted things as of late; what with the Miraak cultists attacking them in Riften... then the nonsense travelling to Solstheim, chasing down the source of the cultists... more cultists and that blasted temple that seemed to go on for miles with Draugr at every corner... Harry realized that, if anything, he was physically, mentally, and magically exhausted. Miraak was most definitely on Harry's shit list after that. He would definitely have words for the guy, before Mazhe ran him through.

Now, with the situation surrounding Spartacus, though, it wasn't as if he could say, 'hold the bus, I need a vacation day'. The slave revolt... the Servile war... without Spartacus, that wouldn't happen. If the guy were to give up, it would more than likely alter the future. That was a chance Harry wasn't willing to take.

His lightened morning training session finished, a quick shower after, he had something for breakfast, and headed out to the square, to finish the morning routine. The cliff edge afforded a stunning view, and most certainly an appropriate place to conduct his mental exercises. The past few days had denied him the opportunity of doing so, and he realized it was more than necessary. It was the first honest chance he had to sort through the storm of memories and events, practically since the morning they had crawled through Nchardak with Neloth.

His mind drifted back to his friends at Hogwarts—they would still be on Summer vacation, not starting the new year until Hearthfire, a couple of weeks from then. He then mentally laughed. _'Let's see Dumbledore drag me back to Hogwarts from here!'_

His mental musings were interrupted, as he sensed someone sit down beside him. Opening his eyes, he found Spartacus had joined him.

“What sort of exercise is this?”

“Calming exercises,” Harry answered, “I try to do this for fifteen minutes every morning, before I actually start the day. It helps me to think more clearly and more calmly.”

“I would join you.”

“I welcome the company. I normally do the exercise with three others, all of them my best friends.”

“You miss their company.” It was not a question.

“Yeah, very much so. As I know you cry for your mate. She waits for you, though I need not say it.”

“She believed in the gods more than I.”

“I don't debate whether the gods exist or not. I do know that there is life after death. I know my parents wait for me in the afterlife, as does my godfather.”

“Godfather?”

“In loco parentis.”

Spartacus gave a slow nod of understanding. He glanced at Harry again, and arched an eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”

“I only now note that you sit on nothing but air.”

“Oh.” That broke the concentration completely, and Harry dropped back to the ground rather awkwardly, letting out a hiss—he'd been sitting cross-legged, floating about six inches off the ground.

It took him a minute to regain his breath from being suddenly dropped in such a manner, but he finally managed, “Do you believe in the supernatural?”

At the blank look he glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot. He pressed, “How about magic?”

Getting another blank look, Harry gestured with an index finger toward the man. Spartacus felt a strange tingle run down his spine, and it was as if... he were suddenly filled with a well of joy.

“What is it you have done?”

“I just cast a cheering charm on you. Though I'm sure you might not want to feel that way, it—“

“It is wonderful. You can just... make something happen by will alone?”

“Well, not exactly,” Harry answered, “Magic has its own set of rules—and before you ask... no, I cannot bring back the dead. One of those hard and fast rules. If not... you can see the ugly ramifications. No one would die, so on and so on.”

“This... ability... also explains why you have healed such as you have, even after such terrible injuries.”

“Yes. Though there is a limit there as well. I know of a healer who could quite quickly heal all of Crixus' injuries. As it stands, I have cast a number of healing charms on him... unfortunately, I only know basic healing, and so it will still take some time for him to heal.”

Harry thought for a moment.

“After your training is done for the day, I'll show you something really special of mine that's... well, probably the most blatant display of magic I have on my person. For now... sit as I am, so we can continue with the exercise...”

Once they finished, Harry headed into the villa, and up to the balcony, where he claimed a chair, and pulled out a grade ten chemistry textbook. Justin had pressed Harry to pick up the extra course back in the spring, considering it had some interesting relations with alchemy and potions.

Studying inside had been out of the question, with the amount of work that seemed to be going on inside that morning. The place was alive with activity, and all of it would have provided a terrible distraction—not that the gladiators training in the square were much better. Theory was dry, and at times infuriatingly boring, compared to hands-on learning. Still, he pressed on, relying on his mental training to keep focus on the lesson. The practical part of the lesson, he would complete later on in the Virtual Projection Room.

Only when a servant brought out refreshments did he realize the time. It was getting on to noon hour.

“Much appreciated,” Harry said, and then, “Could you do me a favour and pass word to Quintus I would like a word?”

“Yes, Dominus,” the young woman answered, and quickly retreated back inside before Harry could correct her.

Batiatus appeared only a few minutes later.

“You wish to break words.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry answered, “I would like to work with your men, if you wouldn't mind.”

Batiatus arched an eyebrow at the odd request. 

“To train with my gladiators?”

“I know you may see it as an odd request. But trust me. I have faced dangers that surpass what your men are capable of,” Harry explained, “Part of my training involves the sword, particularly the short blade. Working on my own isn't the best circumstance for that, and your men are more than capable substitute for my usual teacher.” 

“Then I shall see it done.” 

“You have my thanks.” 

“In a few days, we will be attending games in Capua. We would be honoured if you would join us.” 

“Well...” Harry thought for a moment. It likely wouldn't matter at this point if he did. “All right. Sure.” 

Shortly after, the men were assembled in the training square, while Harry waited off to the side. There came a noisy crack which momentarily startled him, though he'd seen where it came from: the dark-skinned man. 

“Attend,” he commanded. 

“Our guest has spoken of the need to take lesson amongst you,” Batiatus announced, from the balcony. “Teach him of our ways, but do not cause injury, for to do so, you will suffer severe punishment.” 

“Quintus,” said Harry, stepping out from under the overhang and into the square, “That wouldn't be productive. Friends, my trainers most certainly did not go easy on me, and I most certainly don't expect you to. If I get hurt working with you, the fault is mine, and mine only. After all, pain is a very good motivation to learn.” 

“So be it, then.” With that, Batiatus withdrew into the villa. 

The afternoon training session proved be one of the most difficult Harry could ever remember, both mentally and physically. Sure, they were only using wooden implements, but it still hurt. And between Doctore—the dark-skinned man who was obviously in charge of the training—and Spartacus, Harry couldn't decide who delivered more painful blows. The two men were driven by similar, yet different forces, that much was for certain.

To make matters worse, Lucretia made an appearance on the balcony mid-afternoon, attended by Naevia. This only introduced a further distraction, since he had to put up with the matriarch's hungry eyes boring into him. Such as it was, Harry was much relieved when Doctore finally called for an end to the day's training. 

When dinner was over, Harry made his way to Pietros' cell. It was a mess, with a stack of cages along one wall, which contained pigeons. Glancing behind him to make sure no one could see, he cast a strong cleaning charm, and straightened up the room. If he had his way, the burly gladiator who'd barged into the cell the night previous would not have a second opportunity. 

“You watch over the boy?” 

Harry turned to find Spartacus framing the cell's doorway. 

“Some people need to keep their hands to themselves,” Harry muttered, with a scowl, “I would have put a stop to it last night, but that might cause problems, for both Pietros and myself.” 

“A true assumption,” Spartacus agreed. 

“He's still, uh... occupied?” 

“Until sundown.” 

“Then we have a bit of time,” said Harry, reaching into his satchel. He pulled out what looked like a small box, and set it on the ground. Then, at the single touch of his finger, it suddenly expanded in size to become a large chest of polished wood and brass hardware. 

“Close your mouth, Spartacus, you'll catch flies,” Harry smirked. 

“Gods... I cannot fathom—“ 

“Come closer.” Harry undid the latch, and pulled the lid open. “This chest was a gift from my best friends back where I come from.” 

The famous man approached, and let out another gasp, peering inside. Instead of a bottom, as expected, there was a ladder, descending out of sight. 

“This... this is impossible.” 

“Trust me, it's more than possible. Follow me.” Harry was already climbing in. 

Under a minute later, they stood in the chest's common room. Spartacus gazed around, wide-eyed at the space. How could it be that such an enormous room fit in that chest? 

“Wizard space,” Harry answered, to the unvoiced question, “In simple terms, it exists outside of physical reality. There are a few places I know of back where I come from that work like this. If anything, this is a very small example of what's actually possible. One place I know of is an entire community, existing quite literally in the same space of another, without them knowing about each other.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“My kind, magical people, don't generally reveal ourselves to non-magical people. It's been that way for nearly four hundred years. The place I've grown up in, on the other hand, doesn't have that sort of separation. Though, that does remind me. Hold still a moment.” 

Harry drew his wand. 

“It's something I have to do, just so you don't repeat any of this to anyone who doesn't already know. A promise, it won't hurt... remember the cheering charm I used this morning?” 

Spartacus gave a nod, though his eyes were still fixed on the carved wooden wand in Harry's hand. Harry made a simple set of gestures, and whispered a few words, which Spartacus didn't quite catch. Indeed, whatever he did only caused an odd tingle. 

“It's a secrecy charm. Most places where I come from, there is a law in place that makes it illegal to tell non-magical people about the magical world. This is a little bit of a loop hole in the rules—though I can't be doing it to everyone I come across.” 

“It would defeat the purpose of the law.” 

“Exactly.” 

An hour later, the pair exited the chest, and Spartacus retreated to his own cell (which was then across the square, it being a perk of being the reigning champion). Of course, he had been given an invitation to visit whenever he wished, outside of training and other obligations. 

Harry was not alone for long, however. As night fell, Pietros entered the cell, and was momentarily startled and perhaps afraid to find he was not alone. 

“I mean no harm,” Harry promised, seeing the fear in the young man's eyes. “It seems we both have a small problem with individuals acting inappropriately.” 

“In what way?” asked Pietros. 

“Given the nasty marks on your face, the one who barged into your cell last night wasn't only here for pleasantries. Likewise, I would rather not be in the clutches of Batiatus' wife. So, we share a common problem, yours perhaps more serious than mine. Now come closer, so I might fix those nasty bruises.” 

“Gratitude, Dominus.” 

“I am not your Dominus. I'm not above you, nor really is anyone else,” said Harry, touching a finger to the nasty bruise on the young man's cheek. Pietros hissed as it seemed to fade, and it was as if it had not happened at all. 

“Gratitude. Do others know you are able to do such things?” 

“Spartacus knows,” Harry answered, “And like him, I'll need to place a charm on you so you can't accidentally let my secret out to those who don't.”

Sometime later, the gladiator who'd barged into the cell the previous night made moves at a repeat performance, only to stop dead, seeing Harry already there. 

“Can I help you?” Harry smirked. 

The burly man backed away, having seen Harry practising earlier in the day. He now knew the young man was most certainly able to stand on his own. 

When he was gone, Pietros said, “You cannot always protect me.” 

“You're right. But there are ways I can make things a little safer for you. And I have something in mind that just might prove you wrong. How would you like to work for me instead of Batiatus?” 

The following morning, after breakfast, he set out to have a word with Batiatus about Pietros. Unfortunately, he instead ran into Lucretia, who was entertaining a rather striking blonde, with Naevia hovering close by, attending to their needs. 

“Harry, a most opportune time!” said Lucretia, appearing relieved at his timely arrival, “I would introduce Ilithyia, a wonderful friend.” 

“Oh, uh, pleasure to meet.” 

“Come! Join us,” said Lucretia, indicating a vacant seat. Harry mentally groaned. It was bad enough trying to escape one. Now a pair of them were set on him, with hungry eyes. 

It was only when it approached lunch time that he was able to escape, with the excuse of having to get ready for the afternoon training session. He slipped away, and found Batiatus in his office. 

“A word?” 

At Batiatus' incline of the head, Harry continued, “I wish to purchase Pietros. I offer fifty denari.” 

“The boy is worth but a half,” said Batiatus, dismissively. 

“Then I offer ten. I see everyone as having some worth.” 

“Very well. If you are so eager to part with your coin, then so be it. I'll have the details final before end of day.” 

“That's more than acceptable.” 

Harry reached into his satchel, and drew out a small bag. Having now seen the currency in use, he was able to transfigure a lump of gold ore he had into perfect copies. By all intents and purposes, it was real coin. The Romans would never know the difference. 

“It is to be assumed you will be taking him with you when you are able to return where you belong.” 

“Yes. I've already dispatched a letter back home. I'm still waiting for a reply. Honestly, I had expected some sort of reply much sooner... they should have been able to get back to me within the day.” 

“You are able to communicate with that kind of speed?” Batiatus appeared surprised. 

“Back where I belong, yes. Sometimes even faster. Normally not even distance has any effect. But for some reason, being here has changed that somehow,” Harry answered. Of course, he had a pretty good reason as to what was the problem. If anything, it would be up to his friends to sort it out... and quite likely it would involve the Commonwealth. 

During the afternoon training session, he noted that Crixus was up and about, although he'd not actually joined the exercises, and chose to simply observe from under the overhang. The wounds crossing his chest and abdomen were still raw and angry, but there was a marked improvement from when Harry had first arrived. He made a mental note to speak to the man. 

His mind wandered to the fact that indeed, no one had sent any sort of reply back to his urgent letter. In some ways that frightened him. For the first time ever, he was truly alone, without the support of his friends. Sure, he was starting to form a couple of new friendships, but in reality, there was so much uncertainty. At least, up to this point, he'd not actually made any enemies—though the burly gladiator who'd barged into Pietros' cell the other night wasn't exactly happy. Harry knew, of course, it would only be a matter of time. 

The mental distraction proved costly, as Varro's sword struck just below the ear, sending Harry sprawling. The lights were out before he hit the sand. 

Next thing he knew, he was once again in the infirmary, with the healer, Doctore, and Batiatus all standing nearby. His head was spinning, and everything was blurry. He mentally groaned, knowing the onset of a concussion. It wouldn't be the first time. 

He let out a frustrated sigh. “Not the first time I've been knocked silly.” 

“Not paying attention, most unwise,” said Doctore, severely. 

“And I paid for it. Had Varro wielded steel, I would've lost my head. I know all too well. My usual teachers will have loads to say when they hear about this,” Harry muttered. “If someone could prop me up a moment, I need to take a potion.” 

The healer at first was reluctant, but he helped Harry to sit up. 

“Gods... minor concussion, I think.” 

He reached into his satchel, and retrieved a potion. 

“I'll still need an hours' rest, but this will help.” 

“A concussion?” the healer asked, as Harry opened the bottle. 

“Usually happens with a blow to the head. Hard to explain, but if I don't take this right away, it could mess me up for weeks. Something I can't afford.” He drained the bottle, making a sour face at the taste. 

“You will still continue to train with the men?” 

“Of course. Like I said before, pain tends to be a rather strong motivator. Lesson here: distractions can be deadly.” 

“This is true,” said Doctore. “If you are well, I do need to be elsewhere.” 

“When the cat's away, the rats will play,” said Harry, smirking. That got a chuckle from the dark-skinned man as he exited the infirmary. 

“I have here a scroll finalizing the sale of Pietros,” said Batiatus, passing over a sealed scroll. 

“Excellent,” said Harry, as he broke the seal. It was always best to verify the document before doing anything further, this from Will. In this case, it was a simple record of sale. Though by rights, it was somewhat despicable, selling human beings in such a manner.

That evening, after a bit more rest and something to eat, Harry returned to Pietros' cell. He found the young man tending to his pigeons. He was once again marred with nasty bruises. When had there been time for that sort of thing to happen, he wondered. 

“This will be the last time he'll be able to do that,” said Harry, sadly, as he produced the scroll, “Now I can protect you.” 

“Gratitude.” 

“Eventually we will be returning to the place I belong. There, you will be truly free. Though you will probably want to stay close for a time. For now, follow me.” 

Harry produced his chest, and set it down, then added his new friend to the access list, and opened the lid. Pietros was amazed, watching as Harry climbed in and vanished. He quickly followed. 

“Gods!” 

“Only Spartacus knows about this place thus far, so much like him, keep it secret. Now...” Harry looked around a moment, seeming to think on something. “Follow me. I'll let you use Sirius' room since he's... well...” a dark look crossed his face. 

“He waits for you.” 

“Yeah, he does.” 

“What of my pets?” 

“I would suggest setting them free. Though, what happened to your, uh—“ 

“Barca. He bought his freedom. But... he wasn't able to pay for mine. Ashur claimed the price was too high.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry. Though I could try and locate him. Perhaps the pair of you might like to join me. Away from the Romans for good.” 

“It would be a wonderful thing, if you are able to do so.” 

* * *

Harry had certainly heard plenty of stories and descriptions of Capua's arena--but to actually see it for real, that was something entirely different. The day's events were full of bloodshed, beginning early on with public executions. The rest of the morning, and part of the afternoon then proceeded with lesser fights. 

Harry and Pietros were invited to view the events from the pulvinus, the ancient arena's equivalent to a V.I.P. Box. Unfortunately, he once again had to bear the presence of Batiatus' wife, along with the striking blonde. Considering Ilithyia was a close friend of Lucretia's... that likely meant she would be a frequent visitor to the villa. 

There was also another man present, whom Batiatus had introduced as Mercato, a wealthy businessman in Capua. It had been his coin that funded the primus, the day's main event. 

The crowd booing loudly drew Harry's attention back to the arena floor, where six prisoners were being hustled in. They wore only rags which covered their private areas, foot wraps, and more rags to cover the forearms. They looked like—well, if Harry were honest, they looked like bandits. He'd certainly had a fair number of run-ins with such unforgiving, nasty people. The thing was, these people were not bandits, but prisoners. The way the were looking around, they were terrified. 

Batiatus stepped up to the podium. 

“Citizens of Capua!” he began, his voice carrying well across the arena, “Today, we honour the noble Marcus Mincucius Rufus. A Roman consul and commander unmatched in glory. As tribute, good Mercato has seen fit to re-enact his grandfather's most famous battle against the Thracian hordes!” 

Mercato stood and gave the crowd a on-handed salute. Batiatus remained silent for a moment, if to give the games' sponsor his moment. 

He then continued, “Gaze at the prisoners standing before you. And imagine the Thracian Maedi that invaded Macedonia. Raping and pillaging its noble people. Murdering all in their path... even a Roman Governor!” 

The crowd reacted as predicted, throwing rubbish at the prisoners. “Violence and madness swept the land. Echoing into the heavens, where the gods themselves turned their backs. All seemed lost, until Rome dispatched their favoured son... Enter Marcus. Minucius. Rufus!” 

Another set of gates opened to the side of the arena floor opened, and Spartacus marched out into the arena. Harry had already seen his outfit—he was the picture of the Roman Legion's finest. Harry had to smirk, imaging this sort of thing playing out in the Virtual Projection Room—it could certainly do it, with very graphic results. 

Batiatus, meanwhile, continued to hype the crowd. 

“For the honourable role of Rufus, there was but one choice. The Bringer of Rain! Slayer of Theokoles! And Champion of Capua... I present to you— _Spartacus_!” 

It was as if the Beatles had stepped into the arena. It was utter pandemonium. Of course, Harry knew of the man's renown, thanks in part to his history lessons. And of course, there was that startling dream of his slaying Theokoles. Virtually a god among men, at least to the public. Out of the arena, he was but a man who had recently lost his wife, and a slave, trapped to the whim of his master. 

“I thought it was your grandfather we honour,” Ilithyia muttered to Mercato, “Yet the crowd chants 'Spartacus'.” 

“I would almost suspect you either envy or despise him, Ilithyia,” said Harry, with a frown. But Mercato had also visually expressed his disapproval. 

“Worry not of the details, good Mercato,” said Batiatus, trying to smooth things over, “The glory remains your grandfather's alone. Come! Give the signal to begin his glorious victory!”

Mercato took Batiatus' place at the podium. 

“In honour of Marcus Minucius Rufus... let blood be shed!”

Six against one. Tough odds. Very tough odds. Harry had most certainly had loads to say about agreeing to such a fight, but there was no changing the Thracian's mind. He had something to prove—or he had a death wish. Perhaps a little bit of both. 

“ _Confundus_ ,” he whispered, feeling a small pulse of magic reach out and touch each individual sitting with him. Now, to make sure his famous friend survived the fight... 

* * *

Beneath the stands, deep in the under-croft of the arena, a group of individuals were clustered in shadow. 

“You feel it?” spoke one. 

“The magic is foreign, but strong,” said another. 

“We must learn his identity. Perhaps, conduct a test, if only to determine truly how strong he may be. Such power would be a great asset to the coven.” 

“Concurred. Lucinius, I would have you mingle with the crowd, attempt to identify the mage in their midst.” 

“Should he be cold to our advances?” yet another questioned, evenly. 

“Then we shall see to it he is silenced, along with all who might give him aid.” 

* * *

Harry was more than happy to see the match over. It had been a real test of his abilities, to cast silently, wandlessly, and without detection. It was an advanced branch of Illusion that most certainly went hand in hand with quiet casting. Even the magic he learned in his own world was governed by those skills. 

In the end, Spartacus stood at the centre of the arena, blood-soaked and full of adrenaline, the six prisoners masquerading as his countrymen laying dead at his feet. His mission finished, Harry silently Apparated back up to the pulvinus. 

* * *

The following morning, as Harry and Pietros approached the edge of the cliff for mental exercises, they found both Spartacus and Varro waiting. The blond man was curious as to what they were up to, and Harry was only happy to explain. So it was, the four of them sat at the edge of the cliff, with Harry leading the calming and meditation exercises. 

As he went through his own exercises, his mind drifted back to the as to yet unanswered urgent letter he'd sent. How long ago was that now? The lack of response was becoming dire. Two thousand years into the past. How would he return to the present? That was the burning question above anything else. 

The next few days spread into a week, and then two, with both Spartacus and Varro most definitely benefiting from the mental exercises at the beginning of the day. So it was no surprise that, on one particular evening, Harry was approached by Doctore. 

“The exercises you practice in the morning, what is the purpose?” 

“They're basic calming and mental exercises. I've been doing it since I was... gods, I can't remember when exactly I started doing those. It helps me remember things better, helps me think more clearly and more quickly... I think you can see where I'm going with this.” 

“More agile, more stable and more successful in combat,” Doctore finished. “You would do well in the arena.” 

“Uh, no thanks. Though I train almost every day, combat is the last thing I want to do for real. And yeah, I've been in real fights, more than I want to talk about.” 

Harry sucked in a breath and blew it out. 

“As I said to Batiatus, I have faced things which are much more dangerous than any man here. It's not a boast, and honestly, in many ways I wish it were. But I have seen true horrors, much more terrible than the swath of bodies Spartacus is leaving behind in the arena.” 

“It is unfortunate your youth has been taken from you... such as it was taken from me.” 

Harry gave a slow nod and grimaced. He really wasn't surprised to hear that sort of thing. 

“You're welcome to join us,” he finally said. 

“They do serve the purpose, both Spartacus and Varro have shown improvement. Perhaps others may benefit.” 

“I'm open to anyone joining us. Only thing I ask, is that they give it a fair try.” 

He thought for a moment. 

“How is Crixus doing?” 

“He will resume training tomorrow.” 

“Good. I did lend a few of my medicines to help speed his recovery.” 

“The gesture is appreciated. He was our champion once.” 

“Still one of your best, though, am I right? I can see it in his eyes, the man lives for the arena.” 

“As do many of those here, with a few exceptions, such as Pietros. You have purchased the boy. To what purpose?” 

“To save his life.” 

“From Gnaeus.” 

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “That's his name, then. He needs to learn to keep his hands to himself. I know Pietros can fight, I've watched him training... but outside of the square...” 

“I cannot be in all places.” 

“No, you can't. And it's not my place to interfere. Honestly, I have more than enough things to worry about without having to be a hall monitor.” 

At the dark-skinned man's puzzled look, Harry said, “I mean, babysitter. Guard.” 

Doctore gave a nod. “Has Pietros had words about Barca?” 

“His mate. He's told me about him somewhat. I know he did purchase his freedom, but wasn't able to pay for Pietros. I sense something else is going on here.” 

“Concurred. Stories in conflict give me concern.” 

“I'll see what I can find out. I have ways of learning secrets.” 

* * *

Since his arrival at Batiatus' villa weeks earlier, he'd grown used to being the only magical person in the area. As far as the villa was concerned, it was perhaps the most non-magical place he'd been in. It had been decades since anyone magical had been around. Therefore, it was a strange magical presence that woke him in the early hours the following morning. 

Harry had taken to using the extra bed in Pietros' cell (though he had most certainly applied a few comfort charms to it beforehand). He quickly woke the young man, and directed him to climb into the chest, since for now it would be the safest place for him. Once he was secured, Harry closed it up, and miniaturized it. 

The chest securely in his pocket, he then produced his invisibility cloak, and Disapparated, to appear on the roof of the villa. There, he was able to get a good look at the road leading up to the villa from the city. 

There were three of them. They wore cloaks and hoods, but the magic they radiated was practically black. Whoever they were, they meant to do harm. They would come at him first, most likely, seeing as he was the only magical person in the residence. 

He Disapparated again, only to appear outside the villa's entrance. Harry quickly transfigured it into stone to match the hillside. With luck, the intruders would miss it, and use the gate into the square below. Now, the question: Warn the household, or try to take them on himself? Non-magical help was better than none at all. Apparating back to the gate to the square, Harry pressed a finger to his throat. “ _Sonorus_.” 

“Intruder! To arms! _Quietus_.” 

It had the desired effect, as the house seemed to come alive. Torches were being quickly lit, gates slamming open, the guards shaking themselves out of a half-sleep. A pair of them were already crossing the square, to unlock a cell in the block opposite the villa. Doctore emerged, appearing wide-awake and ready. 

“Who raises me from fucking bed at this hour?” Batiatus demanded from the balcony. His wife was by his side, looking equally pissed at being disturbed. 

“Forgive me, Quintus, but dangerous criminals make for the villa with intent to harm you and yours. I need every available sword.” 

Batiatus glanced to the path, while Harry looked out the gate. The three hooded individuals would make the villa in minutes. 

“Doctore! See it done!” Batiatus ordered. 

Harry, meanwhile, blew out a breath. The entire villa was about to find out exactly what he was capable of. Without a doubt, this would be a magical fight—though the gladiators would most likely make things interesting. He reached into his rucksack, and summoned a set of steel armour. He then glanced up at the balcony, mentally thanking himself Ilithyia was elsewhere for the next few days. She'd left the previous evening. 

“Quintus. Get your wife and anyone else who cannot fight into a safe location.” 

As he pulled the cuirass on, he felt a hand touch his arm. Whoever it was was somehow invisible. 

“Two turns. After you heal yourself in the infirmary. I'm going to open the cells in the ludus.” 

Harry then knew exactly who it was, and what had happened. It was a relief to know things would be just fine—at least for him. He quickly finished dressing, and securing the pair of daedric daggers Mazhe had given him to his belt. They actually glowed a cherry red in places, given their origin. 

It seemed like only seconds later, the gladiators began spilling out into the square. 

“Arm yourselves,” Harry directed, throwing a hand at the box containing the steel weapons and unlocking it and causing the lid to fly open, “Get behind me, and be ready for anything.” 

The men were quick to follow the order, although some at first glanced toward Doctore, who was most certainly watching the activity. 

“Set mind to purpose!” he commanded, severely. 

“What sort of threat?” Varro dared ask, appraising Harry's armour in the low light cast by the torches. 

“The magical sort,” Harry answered, “They're like me.” 

“Steel against sorcery. Now that sounds like a fair fight.” The sarcasm was dripping off his tongue. 

“They'll be expecting someone like me. Not steel. We have—“ 

The metal gates to the square seemed to explode inward, forcing everyone to duck. The wreckage was blown clear across the square and over the cliff. Three individuals now framed the jagged opening; they all wore black robes, and hoods that obscured their faces. They said nothing, but brought their hands out in front, unleashing a wave of terrifying magic that sent most gathered in the square ducking for cover a second time. 

No choice, Harry cupped both hands together and formed the strongest fear spell he could. Unfortunately, it only shattered against a powerful ward the middle mage hastily erected. Most unfortunate that Mazhe had the Staff of Magnus; it would have been right useful in this situation. 

It was about to get worse. As Harry unleashed a powerful reductor curse, he felt immense pressure against his mental shields. Nothing like when Hermaeus Mora probed his mind, but still incredibly powerful. He was only able to prevent intrusion by unleashing a storm of various curses and spells from both worlds in which he'd been schooled. 

The spells from his own world failed completely (and he most definitely wasn't about to use forbidden spells), while several illusion-type spells were having more success. So, spells from Tamriel would be more effective. 

An ice spike suddenly impacted with the wall just in front of the mages, and now Harry realized he was not alone. It had been a bold—near insane idea. Meddling with time was a dangerous thing. Thing was, the unexpected spell from an invisible source had caught the mages off guard. Harry seized the opportunity, and nailed the mage on the right with a strong shock spell, while sending a reductor curse at the one on the left. That attack came with a sword being flung by one of the gladiators. 

The reductor curse fell flat, while the shock spell hit its mark, as did the sword. The mage on the right collapsed to the ground, twitching, the sword being imbedded in his lower abdomen. He was snagged by an unseen force, and tossed amongst another group of men clustered in the corner by the smithy. 

“Finish him!” Harry hissed. 

One down, two to go. A different tactic. Harry cupped both hands together, and conjured a flaming familiar: a shade that took the form of a wolf. It instantly bounded toward the threats, but the mage on the right simply batted it away with a hand, and it exploded prematurely. 

“This one carries much power,” the mage on the right dared speak, menacingly, “Most unfortunate he must be destroyed.” 

“I agree,” said the other, as Harry was forced to duck a yellow bolt of energy. It sailed out over the cliff and into infinity, a miniature shooting star. 

“And let me guess. You would promise me fame, power, glory, if I were to join you,” Harry snarked, letting fly another shock spell. This was joined by an ice spike from the roof. His partner remained invisible. 

“Oh, my dear boy, it is too late for such pleasantries,” the mage on the right spoke. 

“I'm not your boy,” Harry hissed, “ _Serpensortia!_ ” 

The thing about the serpent-conjuring spell, is that it not only requires the incantation, but a visual picture of the type of snake desired. In this case, Harry envisioned the most dangerous, nastiest, beastliest serpent possible. And, magic obliged. 

An enormous snake seemed to spring from his cupped hands. It had to be ten feet in length, with black, shiny scales, and radiated dark energy. Not mundane... this was a good thing. 

“ _Kill them,_ ” Harry hissed. 

“ _With pleasure, summoner,_ ” the snake seemed to hiss back, before setting on the targets, who had both visually taken a step back. 

“He is a serpent-mouth!” one exclaimed, as a blue shield ward popped up in front of him. 

“What... how...” 

_KAWHACK!_ Another ice spike smashed into the shield, this time from the balcony. It was enough to force Harry back to the issue at hand. 

Now, with the snake advancing on the unsettled mages, another gladiator grew bold enough to make attempt. Gnaeus hurled his trident at the mage on the left, who had not produced a shield. The weapon found its mark, embedding itself in the mage's chest. 

To the shock of Harry and everyone else in the square, the mage simply ripped the mundane weapon from his chest, and flicked a hand at the weapon's owner, sending forth a brilliant green blast of magic. Gnaeus collapsed to the sand, a look of surprise forever frozen on his face, felled by the ancient curse. Harry was unsure of what was more frightening: the fact that the killing curse existed even then, or the fact that it had been cast without a) a wand, and b) without uttering the words to invoke it. 

That sent most of the gladiators and the majority of the guards fleeing inside the ludus. The snake, meanwhile, advanced on the caster of the curse, spitting a shower of liquid toward him. It fell short, but made the sand burn. 

The mages reacted by producing shields again, and this time concentrating fire on the snake. Another green blast of magic did away with it, the creature being dispatched instantly. 

No time to lament over the destruction of the animal, Harry pushed everything he could into a powerful shock spell, and sent it toward the invaders. That coincided with a flurry of ice spikes that came from the opposite side of the balcony, pushing the mages back toward the mangled hole that used to be the gate. 

The mages, however, pushed right back, sending a shockwave of their own which sent everyone to the sand, some dazed from the sensation... almost as if they'd been boxed about the ears. 

Harry found the pair of mages standing over him, hands poised to cast magic. 

“You were most certainly a challenge, young mage. Most unfortunate that you weren't receptive to our advances.” 

“What advances?” Harry's head was still swimming somewhat, but he remembered no point where he had encountered mages of any sort while in Capua or at the villa. 

“He forgets. But no need worrying about details. However well he has fought, his time is nearing its end.” 

“Farewell—“ the speaker suddenly collapsed, a gladius piercing his chest. Harry seized the distraction and Disapparated, to land under the overhang leading into the ludus. He hissed, feeling as though someone had yanked a clump of hair out of the back of his head. 'Splinched myself,' he muttered. 

“Take him!” came a shout from above, and the last mage turned to find Crixus had crept around behind, sword poised to strike. The mage let fly a terrible blast of red magic, as Crixus effectively removed the guy's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: fallout from the battle, including a rather difficult morning training session for the gladiators; Harry gets ensnared in a snake den...and a most distressing incident forces him to bring out the truth serum. Whoever thought 73 BCE could be so entertaining (besides Steven S. DeKnight, that is)?_   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: Let's see who's been following along. How is Harry able to be in two places at once? Virtual cookies to the first reviewer with the right answer >:D_   
> _This chapter was most frustrating to post here, since AO3 seems to have once again broken the auto-formatting thing or whatever. Really wish they would make things as smooth as Fanfiction.net as far as posting is concerned. Oh well. Rather this than the ridiculous restrictions FF.net is imposing._


	26. Plots of the Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fallout from the battle, including a rather difficult morning training session for the gladiators; Harry gets ensnared in a snake den ...and a most distressing incident forces him to bring out the truth serum._   
> _WARNING: Alcohol and drug use, and dubious consent_

**PLOTS OF THE SNAKE**

**Unknown dates, 73 BCE**

* * *

_Unknown date, 73 BCE_

Harry let out a grunt, and mentally groaned. How many times had he landed in some sort of hospital? He found himself once again in the ludus' infirmary, with a number of people hovering, looking concerned. He'd been stripped of his cuirass, and lay on one of the stone slabs, the medicus applying a white paste to a nasty wound on his right side.

“Gratitude, but I'll take it from here,” said Harry, reaching a hand to a spot on his left side, causing his rucksack to appear. He pulled out a large bottle with a tall neck, pulled the stopper from it, and consumed the contents.

“The bodies of the enemy. What is being done?”

“We move to dispose of them with haste,” answered Doctore.

“Please don't. I would like to have a look at them and what they might be carrying. After which, I would suggest they be burned to ashes. Things such as these... Gods above, they were strong adversaries. I have faced stronger, but with the assistance of many magical friends.”

"You are a sorcerer, then," said Crixus.

“Yes. A wizard, a practitioner of magic, as were those we faced this morning. A secret which none of you here should know. When this heals, I will need to address the entire household, as I have to perform a charm that will ensure that secret remains here within the household, and not end up spread throughout the mundane world.”

Harry thought for a moment, seeing Batiatus frowning.

“As for Gnaeus, I will pay for his replacement, since it was one of my kind who ended his life. Once this is healed, I will also take care of any damage caused to the grounds, since once again, it was one of my kind behind it.”

“The gesture is welcome. Though equally, you have my gratitude.”

That earned a nod from the young wizard.

“I would suggest, that everyone be given a day of rest. This incident will unsettle even the hardest of hearts, an unclear head will only lead to distraction and unnecessary injury. You have all witnessed unspeakable evil at work.”

“Our young friend speaks the truth,” Doctore agreed, “There have been stories, but to see such things give us all pause.”

“Can we expect this again?” Batiatus asked.

“Honestly? I would bet on it. Where there are a few, there are always others. Guess I shouldn't be surprised to run into that sort. Always those in my world that want to cause problems for everyone else.”

Harry closed his eyes, let out a sigh, and opened them, a frustrated look crossing his face.

“You know, it's a surprise that the non-magical world hasn't found out about us en-masse yet. Considering the number of dark witches and wizards around. Always have something to prove. I am truly sorry this has happened here.”

It was well after sunrise before Harry finally regained his feet. He quickly produced his chest, and entered it, to find Pietros occupied with an old geography textbook. Harry mentally noted that there were a few books that should be moved to a more secure location—particularly two books that belonged to a certain Daedric prince.

“All is well?” Pietros asked, seeing Harry enter.

“It is now. I just have a few loose ends to tie up. If you'll bear with me for a few minutes, I do need to get cleaned up, and I'll tell you what happened.”

“I eagerly await your tale.”

Harry entered his bedroom, and was gone for several minutes. When he re-emerged, he looked even more tired than earlier. Still, he took the time to explain what had happened that morning, by pulling out his pensieve and drawing a stream of memories. It also gave him a chance to dissect the incident, and properly process what had just happened. Gods, the casualty count could have been much worse.

It was near dinner time before he finally re-emerged from his chest, and sought out Batiatus. And, about twenty minutes later, the entire household was assembled, whether it be in the square, or on the balcony.

“For all of you standing with me against the terrible threat against all of us this morning, you have my deepest thanks. There is power in numbers, even against something which most of you did not understand. All of you likely know by now—and some have likely suspected up until now—that I have some sort of unusual power. The fact is, I'm a mage. A practitioner of magic, as were the three individuals who invaded the villa this morning.”

Harry produced his wand, and summoned the damaged gates from the rocks below the cliffs. They were roughly seated back in the gaping hole where they belonged, and another gesture from the wand restored them to near-pristine condition.

“There are good and bad sides to magic,” Harry continued, now that he had everyone's undivided attention. “Just as it can maim, and kill, it can be useful, helpful. It's all about choice, and intent.

“However, it is forbidden for your world to know about mine. Under normal circumstances, a group of mages would alter your memories and ensure you don't remember what happened here. Unfortunately, I am a single wizard, and considering I seem to be trapped here for the foreseeable future, I have to do something else. It's something called a secrecy charm, which will prevent anyone here from discussing the existence of magic, or the fact that I am a mage. It will also prevent you from mentioning what happened here this morning, since the two topics are somewhat intertwined.”

“Will such a thing cause pain?” questioned one of the gladiators.

“The application will cause no pain,” Spartacus answered.

That had the rest of the men in the square looking at the man. The young wizard had trusted their champion already?

“Let us see it done,” Batiatus decided. That got a simple nod from Doctore, since the man's word was final.

A few of the men were somewhat reluctant to allow Harry to cast any sort of magic on them, given the incident that morning. Doctore, however, made sure all of the gladiators received the charm. It was Batiatus who saw to the rest of the household, including the guards. Harry viewed them as mercenaries rather than soldiers.

It proved to be a very tiring few hours, after which there was the matter of fixing the rest of the grounds, and restoring the upper entrance to the villa, and so it was after dark before Harry retreated back to his chest and a warm bed. He was not seen the following day, with Pietros delivering a message to Doctore to the effect.

However, if the men believed they had heard the last about the incident, they were mistaken. Now fully rested, Harry approached Doctore just as the men gathered in the square for the beginning of the day's training.

“If I might conduct the lesson this morning.”

Doctore gave a nod, and turned to the assembled group. “Attend.”

“I am honoured to say that I have trained among you. The lot of you exhibit tremendous combat prowess, that would be more than a challenge against other trained men where I come from.

“That said, the attack by magical foes two days ago demonstrates you have a weak spot.”

Without warning, Harry thrust out a hand, and a yellowish-green bolt of magic struck Spartacus in the chest. He went over, his body frozen in the position it had been as the bolt struck—his hands coming up to block whatever it happened to be. The others began shouting in protest, until Doctore's whip sizzled through the air, ending with a noisy _crack_.

“Enough!”

“Luckily for your champion, this spell is not fatal,” Harry continued, “However, considering his prone form, it would allow me to do just about anything to him, magical or otherwise. Or, to perhaps escape, if the target happens to be particularly dangerous.”

Spartacus finally came free of the spell, and scowled at the young wizard as he climbed to his feet, not appreciating either the spell, nor the fact he'd been singled out.

“The spell I used was only a paralysis spell, but what if that had been the spell cast by the dark mage? This spell's colour wasn't quite the same, but how do you know?”

That sent the men muttering once again, shifting uncomfortably in the square.

“The killing curse, does exactly that, as Gnaeus found out. It doesn't matter where it makes contact, whether it be against exposed skin, the clothes you wear, or the shield you wield. If even a _hair's breadth_ of that spell makes contact with you, you are dead. D. E. A. D. Dead. So. Varro, what lesson do you take from this?”

“To avoid allowing the spell to strike at all.”

“Exactly.”

Harry thrust out a hand again, this time picking a gladiator at the far end of the square. This time, it was a purple bolt of magic that lashed out. Unlike Spartacus, the man hit the deck, and the spell sailed past, to impact with the wall, making a sparking scorch mark.

“Well done. Had that made contact, it would have been rather painful,” said Harry, pacing in front of them, while the target of the attack scrambled back to his feet.

“None of the spells I will be casting this morning will be fatal. However, they will be humiliating, embarrassing, or painful. So. We will be practicing dodging and avoiding. Most of what you have already learned in this square will come into practice, only against a different type of attack.”

When they finally broke for lunch, there were more than a few men muttering and cursing Harry's name, and just about everyone sported singed skin or bruising in one place or another. The young wizard had been formidable with a blade; with magic, he was absolutely terrifying. He'd used stinging hexes, tickling jinxes, shock spells, petrification, and a myriad of other tactics, all in the name of making everyone dodge, jump, and avoid his attacks. By the end of the lesson, they'd all progressed quite well—though, some far better than others. Even Doctore had experienced the pain from Harry's spells. And if he had to admit, the teacher of Gladiators had a new appreciation for the young wizard and his skill.

* * *

More time passed. Harry guessed it had been at least a half-year, if not longer. There had been many visits to the arena, where Spartacus' fame had gone to new heights. When he marched out onto the sand, he worked as a man possessed, leaving a pile of bodies in his wake.

During that time, he also witnessed the near-feud between Batiatus and a fellow lanista, a man named Solonius.

“We had been close friends,” Batiatus had explained one evening, when Harry asked of their history.

“A... difference of opinion.”

“Of course,” said Harry, nodding along. However, the images and memories he was picking up painted a very different picture, summed up in a single word: betrayal. He could pretty much see how that would end up—one of them dead.

* * *

A few days later, Harry found his morning studies interrupted, as a group of new slaves were brought into the training square. He packed up his books and notebooks, just in time for Batiatus, Lucretia, and Ilithyia to step out onto the balcony. He mentally groaned. There went the morning.

Then he could barely hold in a snort, picking up the mental images of what Lucretia had just been up to only minutes before her husband returned. A quick glance at Batiatus' memories proved his assumption correct. The snake believed she was pulling the wool over his eyes? Not. He turned his attention back to the square.

There were six new recruits, now lined up at its centre, a guard buffering either end. The rest of the gladiators were for the most part out of sight, although Harry could hear them; they were likely all gathered under the overhang.

“Excuse me,” said Harry, and he made his exit before becoming entangled with the two women now on the balcony. He went inside, then Disapparated, only to appear at the bottom of the stairs which led from the ludus into the villa. He stepped out into the square, and stopped to stand beside Crixus, just as Doctore began his initiation speech.

“What is beneath your feet?”

The initiates all appeared confused, unsure of how to reply. The seconds passed by, with them shuffling uncomfortably, until one was brave enough to speak up.

“Sand?”

The gladiators exploded into laughter. Perhaps it was correct logically, but definitely not the right answer, Harry quickly realized. Doctore cracked his whip, bringing silence back to the square.

“Spartacus. What is beneath your feet?”

“Sacred ground, Doctore! Watered with tears of blood!” came the crisp, smart reply.

“ _Your_ tears. _Your_ blood. _Your_ pathetic lives, forged into something of worth,” Doctore continued, pacing in front of the recruits, “Turn your eyes from your gods and fix them upon me. Listen. Learn. And perhaps, live. As gladiators. Now, attend your master!”

As Batiatus picked up where Doctore left off, Harry chose to simply observe. The recruit on the left was a monster of a man, with tangled hair with many tiny braids. Then there were two rather imposing brothers—it had been the one at left who had given the wrong answer to Doctore's question. It made him look the fool, even though the answer had been logically correct.

Harry also realized at this point, these six new recruits would need to be memory-charmed, since training also now included Harry's instruction. He covered most of the dodging and parrying lessons, as had been the routine for the past few months.

He was brought out of his musing, as Batiatus called down from the balcony.

“Doctore! Our honoured guest wishes to assess the recruits’ virtues.”

The gladiators burst into laughter, while the recruits looked rather confused—until Doctore again cracked his whip.

“Remove your cloths!”

It was humiliating. Harry easily felt for the six men now being forced to remove what little covering they wore, and stand nude in the square, to the jeers of the gladiators. However, as much as he might disagree with it, he was still only a guest, with no say in the matter. As ugly as it was, the brutal training regimen did forge powerful men. Strength through adversity and all that. It was suck it up, or die.

The huge man on the left now left nothing to the imagination, including his manhood. Bloody hell...

“Harry. Step forward,” said Doctore, simply, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Uh... right.” Harry stepped away from the rest of the gladiators, to stand beside Doctore. He noted that both Lucretia and Ilithyia had vanished back into the villa.

“Attend my assistant.”

Right. Harry quickly realized where Doctore was going. The memory charm.

“In addition to the training Doctore will be covering, part of the time, you will be under my instruction, as I cover protecting yourself against attacks which do not come from the sword. Guards, if you will step to the edge of the square. Rest of you, put your cloths back on as to reduce distraction.”

The pair of guards scattered to the sides of the square, while the recruits quickly redid their cloths to cover up their private areas. Harry waited patiently for them to finish.

“Rather than attempt to explain what I will be teaching, I will instead demonstrate.”

The gladiators knew what was coming next. Harry flung a hand forward, nailing the man who had answered Doctore's question. He fell over, frozen like a statue. The rest of the recruits all hit the deck, cowering at what they had just witnessed.

“Last one to rise will sample my next lesson,” said Harry, as a purple glow formed in his left hand. The recruits all scrambled to their feet, and true to his word, he nailed the hulking man with a shock spell, him being the last to gain his feet.

“What... what are you?” one of the brothers asked, as the hulking man fell to his knees, heaving and twitching.

“I am a sorcerer, a practitioner of magic, and a guest of your master. I have been assisting Doctore in areas which cover dodging attack. Though you will likely never suffer an attack by magical means, while fighting on the sands of the arena, my lessons can most certainly still be applied there.”

Harry thrust out a hand, casting a healing charm on the hulking man.

“Before we begin that, however, I must place a charm on each of you that will prevent the knowledge of my abilities from leaving these walls.”

With a strong handle on Occlumency, Harry did quite well at remembering peoples' names. So, as he cast the secrecy charm on each man, he politely asked their name, committing it to memory.

That evening, he found Spartacus had once again entered the chest, which had been left open in Pietros' cell. With the wards being relaxed to intent only, it had become a common thing to have a number of people visiting in the evening. Harry said nothing, but visited the bathroom and got cleaned up, before addressing his friends. He seemed even more tired than he'd been when he had stepped into the chest, but it was only fair he give attention to his friends.

“You have been awake for far too long, see to some rest,” Spartacus said.

“I can wait an hour,” Harry answered, dismissively.

“You will replace Doctore one day,” said Spartacus.

“No. I don't belong here, both of you know that. And I would never displace such an honourable man. He puts his heart and soul into what he does, and whether you might believe it or not, he cares for each and every one of you. He pushes you all to collapse only for your benefit. He demands the best, am I right?”

“This is true,” Spartacus agreed, “It grieved me so, to betray him as I did.”

“I'm sure it did. And he's likely not so easily forgiven, nor forgotten.” Harry let out a sigh, then yawned. “Enough dark thoughts. Your thoughts on the recruits?”

“The German brothers, Agron and Duro... they both have potential, as does Segovax.”

“The Gaul.”

“The one with the horse-cock,” said Pietros.

Harry burst out laughing.

“Gods... about sums it up, I think,” he finally recovered, “My friend Mazhe would be filled with lust.”

“One thing I am certain of, they will certainly not forget your lesson, Harry.”

“The point of the exercise. They know I mean business, and not to take me lightly. It's one thing my friends have taught me: to take my trainers seriously, to never make light of any lesson they teach. Where I come from, it can mean the difference between life and death, it's that simple.”

“Here, more so,” said Pietros. “Not all recruits receive the mark.” He gestured to the large 'B' branded to his forearm.

“All Doctore and I can do, is show them the way. It's up to the recruits to follow it.”

“Spoken like a true teacher.”

“There are a few who would like for me to teach. I've been doing this sort of thing since I was ten,” Harry answered, “And I've told you about incompetent teachers I've had to deal with at Hogwarts. I have to wonder, how has the school fared this year, without a meddlesome headmaster at its helm? Gods... Ron and Hermione would be finishing up sixth year about now, I think.”

* * *

In the early evening a few days later, he found himself invited up to the villa's triclinium—a space that served as the main dining room, and he mentally groaned, finding it was Lucretia who had asked for him... and worse, she was not alone. Harry was not surprised to find Ilithyia there, since she was a frequent visitor. The three others, however—were all immensely beautiful, including a tall blonde woman who could easily pass for Ilithyia's sister. After introduction, Harry learned that Licinia was the cousin of Marcus Crassus, a tremendously wealthy businessman in Rome.

The wine, incense, and opium was spared no expense, and as the evening wore on, the young wizard found himself completely ensnared by the five very attractive Roman women. He found himself engaging in activities that he would never have permitted while of a clear mind uninhibited by alcohol and opium. And perhaps, it was a good thing that by this point he had become most efficient with the application of memory charms. The three visitors would never know different.

At one point, they decided to summon one of the gladiators, and while Ilithyia had wanted to summon Crixus, it was Licinia who suggested summoning the current champion. Harry was by this point hopelessly entangled with two others.

So it was, a short while later, Spartacus was escorted into the triclinium by two guards, and his mouth twitched, seeing his young friend's predicament. He and Harry locked eyes, and the young wizard simply gave a pleading look, shaking his head.

“He stands as Mars, ready for war,” Licinia spoke, rising to caress the man's chest.

“He's our champion,” Harry slurred, “He's always ready for war. Some wine for our friend!”

Lucretia looked scandalized, but realized at this point she would look bad if she didn't appease her other, rather important guest. He'd certainly been very loose with his coin purse, something neither she nor Batiatus wouldn't soon forget. So if Harry wanted to offer a slave wine, it was simply done. Even if that meant the champion, presently in their company. This was likely going to end very badly.

“Naevia, see to it.”

“Domina.”

A cup was quickly filled, and Spartacus was most certainly appreciative, as it was passed to him.

“Bound hands might be an issue. Surely, with the guards and myself present he would not pose a threat,” said Harry, then let out a grunt, feeling a hand press in some place he would never allow while sober. A sloppy gesture from a free hand undid the shackles, and sent them flying toward a nearby guard, who caught them expertly.

“But if he should escape—“ Aemilia protested.

“I would not make three steps,” said Spartacus, his eyes meeting Harry's.

“Why would he want to escape?” Harry questioned with a shrug, “He lives for the glory of House Batiatus, that's all you need to know.”

The three guests seemed to digest that for a moment, while Spartacus took a drink from the cup. Harry almost gasped, feeling a hand reaching up his robe to touch his back.

“Is there truth to the legends? That gladiators share the blood of the gods?” Licinia wondered aloud.

“The mighty Crixus, most certainly,” said Ilithyia, doing her best to hide a smirk. At this point, Harry was not sober enough to catch the nuances.

“Now there was a man! Truly blessed by the gods!” Caecilia exclaimed, and then took a sip of her wine.

“When will we see him in the arena again?” Aemilia asked.

“Very soon,” Harry answered, “He is training once again, though his wounds are still a little sore.”

Lucretia gave him a warm smile, as if to thank him for answering the painful question.

“What of you, Spartacus? Are you a blessing to us?” Licinia prompted, running a hand down the man's back almost seductively.

“To some,” answered the champion, “To others, a curse.” He flicked his eyes to Ilithyia.

“The duality of his kind. Admired as a gladiator, yet despised as a slave,” said Ilithyia, appearing unfazed by the glance.

“He is much more than a common slave. You can feel it radiating from his flesh.”

Licinia turned to Lucretia.

“I have heard tale of a champion's blood possessing many restorative powers.”

Aemilia stopped her groping the young wizard. “A few drops in a glass of wine is said to make a man hard for days!”

“Such are the legends,” said Lucretia, dismissively.

“I would test them for myself, if I could?” Licinia persisted.

“Of course. We will send messenger with a vial—“

“I would have it now.”

The rest of the visiting women tittered and giggled excitedly, and Harry mentally groaned again. On top of dealing with the aftermath himself, he would likely be seeing to injuries foisted on Spartacus as well—if they didn't actually kill him. No. He would intervene if that sort of thing looked to be a possibility. To hell with niceties. A few memory charms would make everything right as rain. Then again...

“Excuse me.” Harry untangled himself and rose from the couch. He forced himself to remain stable, lest he crash into one of the couches and knock himself silly. There was training in the morning, right? Gods, his head felt like it was six times the size.

“Spartacus... your arm for a moment.” Harry produced his wand. “Licinia, your cup.”

“Oh. Of course.” Licinia handed over her empty wine glass, while Spartacus held out his arm. Harry touched his wand to the exposed skin, and muttered a spell, causing a brief spray of blood to arc from an invisible wound, to land in the bottom of the cup.

“The legend does call for the blood of a _dead_ gladiator, does it not?” Ilithyia protested. She let out a sigh. “Such details should not concern us. Spartacus will die soon enough to the roar of the crowd.”

“I do not believe he will ever fall in the arena,” answered Licinia, swirling the dark crimson fluid around in the cup, “He is a god among men.”

“He is nothing but a Thracian dog. His treachery dishonoured Rome,” Ilithyia spat.

“It is your husband who bears the dishonour,” Spartacus spoke, coldly.

“Spartacus!”

Lucretia looked scandalized, while Harry arched an eyebrow and shook his head.

“Spartacus, don't.”

But the champion angrily charged on, “He abandoned defenceless women and children, left to be raped and murdered!”

Lucretia looked furious. “Guards!”

“No. It is not his fault. I would see him stay.”

Lucretia was now being pulled in two different directions, by her guest, and an unruly champion of Capua. The guards had moved to remove the man, but Lucretia finally waved them off.

“Spartacus. Please. I'd rather not attend your Crucifixion,” said Harry, darkly. “Gods... need to sit down.”

“What bold tongue!” Aemilia exclaimed.

“Apologies, I have spoke out of turn,” said Spartacus.

Harry could tell, however, the anger was smouldering beneath the surface. If there came another outburst... And now he found himself pulled back onto the couch by Caecilia.

“Were he my slave, I would have him crucified!” Ilithyia finally exclaimed, no longer masking her hatred for the man.

“For what? Speaking the truth?” Licinia asked, “We have all heard the rumours about your husband.”

Ilithyia flushed, while the others tittered, seemingly amused at their friend's discomfort.

“Ladies, ladies,” Harry placated, “Perhaps we should find a lighter subject. Since we have freely offered blood...”

Harry reached into his satchel, and pulled out a small vial.

“The opium is nice, but this might send all of you over the moon.”

In reality, it was one of Vekel's nefarious concoctions. Perhaps next time they would think twice about indulging in unproven legends, he smirked in his head, as he poured part of the bottle into the cup, and swirled it around.

“Take only a sip, the contents are very powerful.”

“If the legend is true, we can only hope,” Licinia tittered, excitedly.

The remainder of the evening passed in a blur, with more of Vekel's potent mixture blended with blood and wine, Spartacus not being the only donor. The tongues were most certainly loosened, in more ways than one, and hands... many hands... exploring places Harry would most certainly have protested against with a clear head.

* * *

Harry did not remember exactly when the party ended, or how he came to be in his own bed; only that his head felt massively inflated, and there was someone pounding on the lid of the chest. Moments later, Pietros entered his room.

“Doctore demands to know your whereabouts.”

“Bloody hell... _tempus_ ,” Harry muttered. '10:58 a' wafted from the end of his finger in red.

“Gods... send him my apologies and I will be in the square momentarily.”

“He also seeks Spartacus.”

Harry arched an eyebrow.

“He's likely down here. Check the other rooms. Someone brought me down here last night—“

“This morning,” Pietros corrected.

“Might need a bit more time then. Just tell him we'll be up soon.”

Harry summoned his satchel, and reached inside, looking for an anti-hangover draught, then groaned. The potions didn't work on Vekel's concoctions. Worse still, as he stood up, his body ached in places he didn't know actually _could_ ache. What the hell did they _do_ to him last night?

“I'll have to do this another way.”

They found Spartacus asleep in the room Tommy had claimed. Harry carefully woke the man, knowing he would be in a state, if he remembered the previous night correctly.

“Jupiter's cock...”

“My thoughts exactly. We're late for training. But if your head is like mine, we won't be doing anything for the next eight to twelve hours.”

“The legend—“ Spartacus began, but Harry burst out laughing.

“Gods, they were all full of shit. I only played on their foolish superstitions. The mixture I added to the blood was something a friend of mine cooked up. I did tell you about Vekel?”

Both Spartacus and Pietros nodded.

“His concoctions can actually give people brain damage, if taken too much of. The amount used last night should give Licinia and her friends something to think about, if not a pounding head.”

Harry reached into his satchel again, and pulled out a sleeping potion.

“Here. Other thing I can give you—“

“Training...”

“Can wait. I'll be joining you in slumber after I have words with Doctore and Batiatus.”

Stepping outside into the square was a painful experience, as the bright sun nearly blinded him, and only amplified his pounding headache. Still, he pressed on, seeking out the dark-skinned teacher.

“Doctore. A moment.”

“You are late.”

“Regretfully so, and likewise our champion. We were detained last night on account of Lucretia's guests. Neither of us are fit to attend any sort of training today.”

Doctore frowned.

“Do not make this a habit.”

“I don't plan to. I equally require a word with Batiatus, for several reasons. Hopefully it won't result in my spending more coin to cover damages.”

Doctore arched an eyebrow. Did he want to know?

Harry, meanwhile, made for the stairwell that separated the ludus from the villa, opening the gate with a quick gesture of a finger. He quickly secured it again, and made his way up the stairs, only to stop, hearing shouting from the atrium. He picked up at least four raised voices, along with several female—the guests from last night were still there, he realized. Perhaps then wasn't the time to seek out Batiatus. He Disapparated back to the chest, deciding to first view a pensieve memory of the events, and figure out how many fires he had to put out... and perhaps a headache remedy potion.

The pensieve memory revealed a raucous, scandalous evening. Spartacus had went off on Ilithyia on two more occasions, though by that point everyone was too out of it to really take any sort of action... a miracle in that, perhaps. Luckily they would not remember it.

Far worse, the reason for Harry being so sore in so many places. Gods, even his penis was sore from end to end. There was a limit to how many times someone could orgasm, right? And who would have thought... they were more than pretty faces... they had the stamina of stallions.

He blanched, seeing the next block of memories. Now _that_ explained why his arse was sore. Lucretia's guests weren't the only ones with the stamina of a stallion. He would end up apologizing to both Spartacus, and his wife's ghost should he ever meet her perhaps... bloody hell. He once again found himself cursing the blonde snakes for such scandalous behaviour. Oh sure, they'd all found it immensely funny. What would Batiatus think of his wife abusing a guest in such a manner?

It was then he felt a surge of magic touch him from head to toe, much as it had two years prior—just before he found out about his name being drawn from the Goblet of Fire. What now? For now, he sighed, and retreated back to his room, to get a few hours' rest.

It was after dinner before he awoke again, hearing voices from the common room. He threw on a shirt and a pair of shorts, then wandered out.

Varro had joined Spartacus, seated in the comfortable chairs across from the fireplace.

“He at last awakens,” said Varro, cheerfully.

“Piss off,” Harry muttered, plopping down into a vacant chair.

“Still sore are we,” Spartacus questioned, his mouth twitching.

“I owe you an apology. I should not have let them coerce us into such dreadful actions.”

“I do not blame you, Harry. It is only because of you that I was not crucified.”

Varro arched an eyebrow.

“Do tell.”

“A single word,” Harry answered, “Ilithyia. The hate she has for Spartacus could fill this room a hundred times over. The suggestion of drawing his blood for entertainment, I could see it in her eyes. She likely would have murdered him right there. Gods, I loathe that woman.

“Unfortunately, like me, she is a frequent guest of the villa, so I have to make nice. Still, she is coming very close to being added to a very exclusive list of people I will mete out justice to.”

“It is unfortunate someone of your age has such a list,” said Varro, regretfully.

“Agreed. So is my life, though. And last night...” he sighed. “Fucking snake den.”

Spartacus let out a chuckle, while Varro couldn't help but laugh. Harry wanted to be mad, but in the end he had to laugh, too. In some ways, it was amusing, and really... Spartacus had landed a few nasty barbs on the blonde bitch... and got away with it. Score points for the champion of Capua.

It was the morning after that before Harry once again made an appearance in the square, and he was immediately summoned up to the villa by Batiatus.

“Your coin has been appreciated. However,” Batiatus said, dangerously, “Whatever the fuck that was you administered to the guests of my wife, it will not happen again. Are my words understood?”

“It will not happen again. I only wished to look out for your investment, which was threatened by Ilithyia's schemes. I don't know all the details about what she did to gain his ire, nor do I really need to. All that I know is, she had murder in her heart.”

“Spartacus should not have been summoned, such as I have told Lucretia. Throwing them together only invites calamity. Nor should you be summoned. As I have also told my wife.”

“Are Ilithyia and her friends still feeling ill?”

“Yes, they're fucking ill, or we would not be having this conversation!”

“I do regret causing lingering discomfort. But as I said, Ilithyia was going to kill your champion. I won't let that happen. Not outside the arena.”

Batiatus softened. In the year the young wizard had been there, the friendship formed between him and the gladiators had only gone on to strengthen the position of the ludus. There had been enquiries from Pompeii, and even Rome, about his wares, something not heard of in decades. Harry was just as valuable as his gladiators.

“Lucretia works to earn the favour of Marcus Crassus.”

“A powerful businessman from Rome,” Harry remembered.

“Good Crassus owns the fucking heavens, even if he is not currently favoured by his fellows in the senate. As such, Licinia plans another visit.”

“I will plan on being elsewhere, and with your permission, I will be sure Spartacus is unavailable also.”

“You have my gratitude, both for the night previous, and the future. You know the worth of our champion.”

“As I would protect any of the men I teach. All of them have great potential.”

That got an incline of the head from the lanista.

Dismissed, Harry quickly returned to the ludus, and to training. He smirked, seeing and hearing the groans and rolling eyes.

Doctore cracked his whip.

“Attend!”

Harry smirked again, and suddenly thrust out a hand, sending a violet bolt of magic toward one of the new recruits. He was learning, but still a little slow, and the spell connected with an exposed arm. He collapsed to the ground, twitching.

“Good morning. Let us begin...”

* * *

A few nights later, as Harry sought out Spartacus, he found him in the bath... in a disturbing circumstance. He'd been drawn by the scuffling and grunting sounds, to find two of three men present embroiled in a deadly fight. Crixus' wound on his abdomen had reopened, and he'd been stabbed by a tool used to scrape mud and dirt off the skin. Spartacus, meanwhile, lay half-submerged in the water, heaving—Harry was still unsure of exactly what had put him in such a state. Segovax, the enormous Gaul, was wrestling with Crixus, brandishing the scraping tool.

Harry thrust out a hand, and the disarming spell was strong enough to send both men sprawling, the tool clattering up against the far wall. Another thrust of the hand had Segovax stunned in the corner.

“Guards! Baths! Now! Summon Batiatus!”

Another thrust of the hand had Segovax bound in heavy ropes, while several guards stormed into the room, weapons at the ready. Doctore was along only a few moments after.

“What is this madness?” he demanded, while Harry was already seeing to Crixus' wounds.

“Sit still, you'll open it further,” Harry warned, drawing a finger over the wound. It closed somewhat, but some blood still leaked from it. “Doctore. I came on some sort of fight. I will wait on Batiatus before I ask questions. What I did see, was Segovax attempting to murder Crixus with a scraping tool.”

He indicated the tool, which rested by the wall.

Batiatus entered the room, took one look around, and Harry could read him quite well at this point. He appeared about ready to just turn on heel and go back the way he came, not wanting to hear whatever disaster had beset them.

“What fucking disaster do I walk into this time?” he seethed.

“Attempted murder. I think, before any sort of punishment is meted out, we need to find out exactly what happened.”

Harry looked at Spartacus, who had climbed to his knees in the middle of the bath. There were a pair of ugly welts around his neck.

“First off, are you okay?”

“I am well enough. Gratitude to both you and Crixus. Your intervention was timely.”

“What happened?” Doctore asked, looking severe.

“Segovax. Assailed me from behind,” Spartacus answered, indicating a pair of ropes on the ground nearby. “Crixus gave me aid, and suffered for it. Harry entered as they were fighting.”

“Crixus. Is this what you found?” Doctore questioned.

“It is so.”

“See him—“ Batiatus began.

“Wait,” said Harry, “There are three persons involved here, so three stories. Though, since Spartacus and Crixus seem to be the target of the assault, I would question Segovax differently.”

He reached into his rucksack, and pulled out a vial containing a clear liquid. He then gestured with a hand, laying Segovax out flat.

“Someone help prop his head up.”

Batiatus nodded to a guard, who did so, while Harry un-stoppered the vial, and pried the recruit's mouth open. It was full of blood, a few teeth missing. Crixus had nailed him good, and that could cause problems... but a gesture of the hand saw the teeth replaced and the blood vanished. Now, he allowed three drops of the potion to fall into the man's mouth, and forced it closed, then waited a few moments.

“Now, to get some answers. _Rennervate_.”

The spell had immediate effect, as Segovax opened his eyes.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” came the whispered reply.

“Did you attack Spartacus a short time ago?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” came Doctore's question.

“To kill him.”

Both Spartacus and Crixus moved to mete out their own justice, but a gesture from Harry had them both deciding otherwise. At this point, it was Harry's show.

“Why did you wish to kill Spartacus?”

“I was ordered to.”

“By who?”

“My Domina.”

“Who is your Domina?”

“Ilithyia,” Segovax answered.

Harry mentally added the blonde snake to the very exclusive list he kept in his head. He would one day deal out his own sort of justice on the bitch. And to think, the woman had her claws all over him not long ago. He mentally sighed.

“Anyone else have any further questions before I administer the antidote?”

“None,” said Doctore.

“None,” Batiatus agreed, looking furious.

Harry gave a grim nod, before producing and administering the antidote.

“Segovax. You betrayed every man in this household. You spit on the friendship Spartacus was offering you. You betrayed me, by attacking my friends and students. I can only hope that your next great adventure is better than the pitiful excuse of a life you have led. May the gods have mercy on you, because I strongly doubt your master will.”

Harry turned to Batiatus. “Do as you will, I'm done here. Spartacus, you able to walk on your own?”

“Well enough.”

“Let us get Crixus to the infirmary, my healing spells can't close a wound that serious, and I'm out of healing potions.”

As the three of them left the room, Crixus being carried between Harry and Spartacus, those remaining could only shiver at the cold malice the young wizard was easily broadcasting. The rage that smouldered beneath the surface could set a city alight. Far worse, they knew should he decide to actually unleash such a fury on someone, it would be worse than the fate of someone falling over the cliff—at least in that instance, there would be remains to scrape up.

As they made for the infirmary, Harry tuned out the horrible cries coming from the baths. He knew that during the last minutes of Segovax' life, he would know pain and agony beyond anything previously experienced. Yet, he really didn't care. As much as he'd fought against it, Harry had formed a bond with Spartacus and a number of the men in the ludus. Just as he had formed a bond with Tommy nearly two years prior. Segovax had attacked a close friend, and that... he couldn't ever let that slide.

* * *

And yet, that wouldn't be the last he would hear of the blonde snake. As much as he loathed the woman, it seemed she was around more and more, giving further concern. Having Ilithyia in the same building as himself, let alone Spartacus, was inviting danger.

So it was, that one afternoon, there was a commotion of such epic proportions inside the villa, that Harry was forced to drop his afternoon studies, and venture inside to investigate.

“Lucretia?” Harry produced his wand, hearing the woman shrieking, the sound of pottery shattering against the walls. What in the gods...

He rushed into the bedchamber, to be greeted by a sight that stopped him in his tracks. Lucretia stood in the middle of the room, absent her wig, looking absolutely volcanic with rage, poised to throw an ornate vase. The marks on the wall were indicators of the source of the crashes. Vials and bottles containing various perfumes and oils had been smashed on the floor and walls, their smells combining to form a most putrid odour. He had to duck, as she flung the vase in his direction. It missed, to crash against the wall, though Harry had swiftly produced a strong ward, just in case.

“Lucretia?”

“GET OUT!!!”

Her rage was terrifying, and Harry turned to escape, only to run into Batiatus, who had entered.

“My ears suggest a tempest, but eyes reveal a wife gone fucking mad!”

“Look to that bitch Ilithyia as the cause,” Lucretia seethed.

“Uh, I'll see my way out,” said Harry, uncomfortably, “I, uh, was concerned.”

“Gratitude. Strike it from further concern, I will see to my wife.”

Harry was only too happy to retreat to the chest, his heart still pounding in his chest. Gods, that had been just a little frightening. She had nearly nailed him with a vase.

Then, as if that weren't enough, several evenings later, Harry found Spartacus being dragged through the corridors by a pair of guards, his skin covered in some sort of golden paint. A careful enquiry uncovered the reasoning: a certain blonde snake, yet again—was it really that much of a surprise at this point? She moved up yet another slot, now sitting above Miraak on the shit list. It was time to begin meting out punishment in his own way. But first, he would need to learn of where the bitch lived...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Ilithyia's husband visits the villa rather unhappy about some unexpected visitors at his home; Spartacus has a strange dream which sends Harry on an expedition that has far-reaching consequences ... and Numerius celebrates his 15th birthday with a party at the villa, with unexpected outcomes._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So, Harry might have gotten a little entangled, now, eh? However, we see what sort of schemes both Lucretia and Ilithyia can hatch, and it's an unfortunate side effect that Harry gets drawn into them. I need not say, there will be further consequences in Harry's present._


	27. Clouded Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ilithyia's husband visits the villa rather unhappy about some unexpected visitors at his home; Spartacus has a strange dream which sends Harry on an expedition that has far-reaching consequences ... and Numerius celebrates his 15th birthday with a party at the villa, with unexpected outcomes._

**27: CLOUDED JUDGEMENT**

**Unknown dates, 73 BCE**

* * *

Several days later, Harry found his afternoon review and study session interrupted, as a rather imposing man dressed in Roman armour practically barged into the villa, a number of soldiers following. Though he was guided into the business office, the conversation was easily heard out on the balcony, where Harry was set up.

The man turned out to be Ilithyia's husband, Gaius Claudius Glaber. His upset? Someone had apparently managed to break into his villa and take everything of value. Naturally, he had immediately travelled to Batiatus' villa, since his wife was presently visiting. Her shrieks and shouts were easily heard as her husband noisily broke the news to her.  _Poor thing_ ... not.

Harry pretended to concentrate on his studies, but most certainly put the conversation to memory, since a certain friend might take amusement from it. And Harry... he would make a fortune, once he broke words with Tonilia. The guild would further profit from another fool's transgressions, if and when he returned to Tamriel. He sighed, glancing at a thick black tome that rested on a side table. It shimmered a deep green colour on occasion, a hint of the dark power that resided within its covers.

Later, he had the opportunity to share a pensieve memory with his famous friend. Spartacus was most definitely amused at Glaber and Ilithyia's discomfort, considering the nightmare they had brought on him. Had Glaber actually kept his word, then there wouldn't have been a defection... and perhaps, Spartacus would still have his wife by his side.

* * *

Days later, as the afternoon training came to a close, Harry took to a spot on the far side of the square, close to the cliff. He'd discovered a spell in the  _Ohgma Infinium_ , and copied it onto a sheet of plain paper, so as not to have to cart the book outside. Deciding to branch out and explore more advanced forms of magic, he had dared open the dark text.

The image accompanying the spell depicted one of the monsters he and Mazhe had encountered in Apocrypha, something he now knew was a seeker. Knowing what it looked like was one of the most important things when it came to conjuration of any sort.

Unlike a traditional spell tome, spells contained within the  _Ohgma Infinium_ weren't instantly taught, but had to be absorbed slowly, with study. So it was, he'd spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon studying the text, visualizing the spell forming in his hands, feeling the magic as it was sent out to do its bidding, visualizing the monster as it took form, and feel its energy tethered to his own. Harry realized this was likely considered a master-level spell, something that by rights, he shouldn't be attempting.

At this point, however, most of his study was spent in review, since he had by now covered everything in his level six curriculum. Even his grade ten textbooks had been covered from end to end. What was there to do, but attempt something new?

Now, the moment of truth was at hand. He cupped his hands out in front of him, allowing the acid-green energy to take form in and around them, then let fly. There came a noisy crackle of energy, as a glowing acid-green sphere formed on the ground, only to fade, revealing a monster, exactly like they had met in Apocrypha: two tails, what might have been a cloak, tentacles on its lower body, two human arms, and a head shaped like it was a starfish; the strange mouth-like opening that formed its midsection, with rows and rows of teeth, forming concentric circles within it.

“What in the gods?!” 

Doctore had witnessed the spell being cast from under the overhang, and now came charging over. It hovered nearby, making a soft 'wub-wub-wub' sound. It almost sounded mechanical, although the beast was definitely organic.

“Do not attack it!” Harry warned, as the monster turned to face him. He could feel the magical tether, keeping it obedient to his wishes.

“Why would you summon such a thing? An abomination from the underworld,” spoke another gladiator, looking on in fright.

“The attacks this thing can bring about are crippling, if not fatal. He... I mean, she... uh, it—is entirely under my command.”

“Can others conjure such things?” Doctore questioned, wearily.

“Like this? Unlikely. Conjuration in itself is a powerful, but very difficult art to master. Again, I'm surprised I was able to actually do it.”

“How long will it remain here?” Duro asked, having joined the group of onlookers.

“Until destroyed or dispelled,” Harry answered, holding a hand up in the air, charging another spell, this one appearing white in colour. He brought his hand down, and with a noisy sizzle, the seeker vanished. 

“Either way, should those dark wizards ever make a second appearance here, they will be in for a very nasty surprise.”

Doctore once again cast weary eyes toward the young wizard, and stalked back over to the common area. He knew by now to expect the unexpected when it came to Harry, yet, the kid still found ways to shock everyone, this being the latest example.

* * *

Early the following morning, Harry was awakened by Pietros.

“Spartacus urgently seeks to break words with you.”

“Tempus,” Harry whispered, and '3:28 a' appeared in red at the end of his finger. “Tell him I'll be out in a moment. Where is he?”

“He waits in the common area.”

“Thanks.”

He watched Pietros leave. 'What sort of chaos was about to unfold now?', he wondered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. The previous day's studies had been most useful, but had been draining. Even now, he still felt weary. A pepper-up potion would have been right useful, but they were long gone, as were a good number of potions he would normally have no trouble making. Sure, it was no trouble to set up a potions lab in the Virtual Projection Room, but the room's rules were rather rigid in that anything created by the room could not leave it, in this example, potions ingredients. So, the ingredients had to already exist and be brought into the room, along with any supplies for bottling it.

Giving himself a minute or two to become as alert as could be, he finally dressed and made his way out to the common area.

“Apologies for raising you from slumber,” said Spartacus, standing.

“What happened?” Harry asked, simply.

“My wife visited me in my dreams bearing a message for you.”

Harry arched an eyebrow, then simply held out a hand. “ _Accio_ pensieve. I think it'll be better if I view it. I won't intrude on more of the memory than necessary—“ 

He paused to grip the summoned object, and place it on the table in front of the couches.

“—just think of her message for me, that's all.”

“I have witnessed you draw a memory previously,” said Spartacus, “I am ready.”

“Good.” 

Harry produced his wand, and touched the tip of it to the man's temple, and gave a tug, causing what looked like a silvery hair to pull away from his temple. He then dropped it into the pensieve.

“Coming?”

“Why? It is a memory still fresh within my mind—“

“Not from this perspective, though.”

Both Harry and Spartacus touched the silvery liquid in the pensieve with a finger, and fell rigid, while their minds were drawn into the memory. To Spartacus, it was as if he were falling through smoky, swirling darkness—and then his feet hit the ground, and he was standing in the brightening light of sunrise, in a place he remembered well: the fields of Thrace. Others were around, men bidding good bye to their wives—the morning they had set out as Auxiliaries in the Roman Legion.

Harry was still taking in the scene around him, when Spartacus gently pushed him to the heart of the memory: his memory-self talking to his wife. Unexpectedly, the entire scene dissolved, replaced by a scene Harry remembered well: the chamber in Saarthal, with the Eye of Magnus pulsing in all its terrible, beautiful glory. Sura and dream-Spartacus remained, however.

“My love,” Sura whispered, “My husband. The gods send me to you with a message to your young friend.”

Harry gasped, seeing what looked like hundreds of runes forming all around him.

“He must visit your dream and commit these signs and symbols to memory. The future is dependent on the action he takes now, as much as the life he now knows.”

“I—I do not understand.”

“I know, love,” Sura whispered , gently caressing her husband's face, “None of this is meant for you to understand, I act only as a messenger, with the reward of seeing you again.”

“You are well?”

“Know that I am safe, and wait for you on the fields of Thrace.”

Harry made a gesture with his hand, freezing the scene.

“Gods. There has to be nearly a thousand runes here.”

“How will you remember them all?”

“I've told you about the additional exercises I do while we meditate in the morning?”

“Occlumency.”

“It's not only about keeping nosy witches and wizards from reading my thoughts,” Harry explained, “It's also about organization. It's an added benefit. Being able to remember things in great detail. Thing is, I'll have to draw every one of them out—what the hell is _that_?”

It was a single page of parchment that seemed to hover with all the other runes. Harry brought it forward with a gesture from his hand, and felt a stone drop into the pit of his stomach as he read.

“Harry?”

Harry simply answered with a bat of the hand in the general direction of the Eye of Magnus, with the intention of leaving the memory. However, rather than them returning to his trunk, the world dissolved again, transitioning to a grassy bluff. Harry recognized it at once: the Cliffs of Dover, where, six kilometers below the surface, lay the city of Erwin, the Commonwealth's original capitol city.

It was only then the memory dissolved, and they found themselves back in the common room of Harry's chest.

“You look of fright, Harry,” said Pietros.

“I might as well have. The world I know, the place I know, my friends... my future... it all depends on something I must now do. Spartacus, when do you next fight in the arena?”

“Not for some time.”

“Good. I'll need your help... and likely that of Varro and Crixus. I need people I can trust... I would ask of Doctore, but training would suffer.”

“And mine?” Pietros asked.

“And yours.” Harry smiled grimly. “Seems I've formed another circle of friends. One I will sorely miss when I return where I belong.”

Spartacus was confused. “What has shaken you so?”

“My world... or well, the country I call home... it exists because of the magical sphere you saw in your dream. The duty falls to me, to make sure it exists here, in this world.”

Spartacus seemed to think on this for a few moments. “Your actions now pave way for a distant future.”

“A future that must exist, yes. Terrible things will happen, should I fail. Your dream has revealed to me the purpose of my landing amongst you.”

Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “It could only happen to me. The gods, too, have taken an unhealthy interest in my affairs, so it would seem.”

Batiatus was most certainly not all that warm to the idea of Harry borrowing his champion for any reason. However, it was eventually permitted, particularly when Harry offered a pile of coin. Nearly five hundred denari finally satisfied the lanista.

Harry spent most of the next three days closed up in the Virtual Projection Room, carefully drawing out each of the nine hundred and seventy three individual runes. Having seen a projection pensieve at the government inquest, it had been nothing to have the room provide one. That way, Spartacus' memory could be replayed over and over, paused where appropriate.

The parchment Harry had seen, meanwhile, also described the ritual that coupled with the runes, explaining what would happen when it was performed. It provided a diagram of the rune positioning, and required a bit of blood from at least four donors, at least one of them being magical—though all of them being magical would have been better.

The room proved indispensable, as Harry was able to have the room provide numerous textbooks and magical tomes, all of which provided useful information on the type of ritual he would be performing.

Finally, with all the runes having been drawn out, large, well-defined on individual pages of paper, Harry decided to do a partial rehearsal before attempting the real thing. Since he knew exactly where they needed to go, he asked the room to provide a close representation.

It was not difficult to have his friends help draw out the runes, but even with the four of them, it took several hours. The pattern formed a large central circle, with four smaller circles at exactly east, north, west, and south positions. Precision would be relatively important, but not so much as the arrangement of the runes and proper order. As they worked, Harry wondered if he would be able to claim what he was about to do as some sort of extra credit for Ancient Runes. Or forget that, the complexity bordered on master-level.

They made ready to depart for the Cliffs of Dover just before dawn the following day. Unfortunately Batiatus added one more stipulation in that at least a pair of guards would be joining them on the expedition. Harry, however, saw a silver lining in it, in that a pair of extra eyes might be of use. At this point, he had no clue as to what he would find when they arrived. For now, they stood in Spartacus' cell, with the door closed, so no one would see their departure. Harry had collected everything he'd owned, with the small chance that the summoning would inadvertently send him back where he belonged.

“Right. Just before we leave.” 

Harry reached into his rucksack, and pulled out four silver amethyst amulets.

“These will protect against some of the nasty spell work I've seen, and in a really dire situation, carry you instantly to a safe place—for now, my chest. I'll collect them later, since—“

“We aren't supposed to have them,” Pietros finished, as hands reached out for the offered jewelry.

“Yeah, about sums it up. Though, for you, you may keep it, since you'll be coming with me when I leave. Now...”

“And we aren't afforded the same protection?” questioned one of the guards, sourly.

“You've been assigned to us as _part_ of the protection. I see no need,” Harry answered, dismissively. He retrieved a silver plate from his rucksack, being careful not to smirk, since it had come from Glaber's villa. 

“ _Portus_.” he whispered, pressing a finger to it. The plate momentarily shimmered a blue shade, then fell silent. “Get a finger on it.”

Up to this point, none of Harry's companions experienced travel by port key, and so it was more than one of them who let out a gasp, as they all vanished in a blur of limbs, into nothingness. It felt like an eternity—and then... their feet slammed into the ground. Not a man remained on his feet, but left sprawling in the knee-high grass.

“By the gods...”

“Jupiter's cock,” Varro muttered, being the first to regain his feet.

“What... what did we just do—where are we?” 

Crixus appeared disoriented, as he too regained his feet. The tiny cell was gone, and instead, they found themselves in a grassy field, with the smell of the ocean invading their noses.

“Several miles below the place we stand will one day play host to a great city. We stand on the Cliffs of Dover... or well, we're a little ways away from it... but this feels like the right spot. Keep alert, but we can rest a few minutes before we begin.”

“Gratitude,” said Varro, “Your method of travel was in no way subtle.”

“Feels as though I have been knocked about the head,” said Pietros, who remained sitting.

“Or one of your painful concoctions,” Spartacus muttered, at last finding his feet.

“The feeling will not linger, though,” said Harry, as he surveyed the area. “Just take a few minutes regain your bearings... and you two—“ Harry gestured to the guards, “—as you were assigned, keep watch. Anything out there looks out of the ordinary, I want to know about it.”

After allowing everyone to rest for about fifteen minutes, Harry began preparing the site, mainly by vanishing the grass, leaving the bare ground behind. That alone took nearly an hour, as had been the case back in the Virtual Projection Room.

With the preparation done, the task then became drawing the individual runes. Harry had marked out the centre of each circle, and while he tackled the larger centre circle, Varro, Spartacus, Crixus, and Pietros saw to the four outer circles. The centre circle contained two rings of runic symbols, while the four outer circles contained just one.

Though they had already practised the process, Harry still paused periodically to make sure everything was progressing as planned. The four others were working quickly and methodically. If one good thing had come of their training, they executed instructions to the letter. All of them would make good soldiers, there was no mistake.

The sun was high overhead when the runes were at last finished. They had used dulled shafts of wood to draw in the soil, and up to this point, the runes would actually do nothing—not until the next step was completed—the addition of blood.

“All right. The next step.” 

Harry produced a silver goblet from his rucksack—another item he'd pilfered from Glaber's villa.

“I don't require a whole lot of blood for this, a quarter-cup at most.”

“How shall we provide it?” asked Crixus.

“Hold out your forearm,” Harry answered, “I can promise you won't feel a thing.”

Crixus did so, and Harry produced his wand. He touched it to the man's forearm, and muttered a spell, causing a spray of blood to arc from an invisible wound, to collect in the cup.

“Next.”

The same thing was repeated for Pietros, Varro, and Spartacus, the promise of no pain holding true.

“Now, I add mine. Pietros, if you would hold the cup.”

Pietros accepted the cup, and held it out, as Harry repeated the process on his own forearm, this time drawing a little more than the others. He then collected the cup.

“Now. Each of you return to the circle of runes you've drawn.”

While Harry went back to the larger centre circle, the others took up position in the four smaller ones. When they were in place, Harry knelt down, and tipped the cup, allowing some of the blood to spill at the centre of the circle.

“ _Portus maximus. Harmonia Nectere Passus_.”

The spilled blood shimmered red for a moment, then seeped into the ground, as red energy seemed to spread outward, lighting up each of the runes drawn earlier.

“What is happening?”

“The blood is charging the runes. It's behaving exactly as described in the notes, it's a good thing,” Harry answered, reassuring his young friend. 

He carefully stepped out of the circle, then approached the east circle, where Crixus stood.

“Your turn.”

Crixus did exactly as Harry had, absent the spell casting. However, the blood reacted in the same way, shimmering red and vanishing, this time with green energy spreading out from the centre to charge the runes.

“ _Portus maximus_ ,” Harry again intoned. The centre circle pulsed briefly with green energy, before returning to red. “ _Circumsempra_.”

Harry turned to the south circle, which had been Pietros' responsibility. This time, the circle had charged a blue shade. The west circle, completed by Varro, then charged a yellow energy.

Harry finally turned to the north circle, which had been completed by Spartacus.

“ _Portus Maximus_ ,” Harry intoned, while Spartacus emptied the remainder of the blood at the centre of the circle. “ _Circumsempra_.”

This time, with the blood shimmering red, a purple wave of energy charged the circle's runes, and the rest of the drawn runes all glowed much brighter.

“Everyone stand clear. The rest, is up to me.”

Harry waited for the others to collect at the south end of the drawn runes, then lifted his wand aloft.

“ _Fianto duri. Protego Maximus. Portus Maximus. Circumsempra. Harmonia Nectere Passus.”_

Each spell cast caused the entire runic work to momentarily flare, as the air began to sizzle with pent up energy. It felt like the approach of a powerful thunderstorm.

Harry was not done. Now, he reached into his rucksack, and pulled out a large, ornate scroll which none of the others had seen up to now. He'd dealt with the brief bout of blindness that had resulted from opening it before, but now... now he held enough knowledge to open it without the nasty side effects. He had purpose in using it.

“ _By words with older bones then my own, I make the call. Send forth the magnus, bring forth the power beyond that of this world. Bring it forth from wherever it may be. Lend its power to this world, so the just may rise against the tyrants that lay in wait. By my blood, by the blood of my allies, let my plea be heard!_ ”

PAIN. Pain beyond anything imaginable seared into the five casters and two guards alike, as a blinding flash of light bloomed from the centre circle. Harry felt like he'd been set on fire, as he collapsed to the ground, the  _Elder Scroll_ falling to land beside him. 

A dread momentarily took hold. Something had gone horribly wrong. Gods... he'd killed them all. PAIN. More pain. Unending, unmitigated, terrible pain surged through his body. It now felt as though he were being ripped limb from limb... his head felt like it were about to burst from immense pressure, and all he could do was lie on the ground, convulsing.

Then... everything came to a standstill, with the scene taking on a blue tint, as someone began to materialize beyond the circle. Harry had seen him before; he wore tan robes with crimson trim. The pain had completely vanished, and Harry found himself involuntarily pulled to his feet.

“We meet again, Harry Potter.”

“You have a most unpleasant way of announcing your arrival.”

“My arrival did not bring with it the discomfort you were experiencing. Your ritual most certainly did.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, young mage, you did not. Had you and your companions conducted the summon incorrectly, the results would have been... messy. Your deaths would have been only the beginning. As such, your words and actions were performed to the letter.”

“What now?”

“You believe your world is ready for the Eye of Magnus?”

“Whether or not our world is ready for it is irrelevant, Mage of the Psijic Order. Our world's survival depends on it, sir.”

“I am Quaranir,” said the mage, “And your actions, as well as your words, hold conviction.”

“I only act in the interest of what is best, what is the right path. The true Greater Good,” said Harry. “There are many who might say that, but very few who truly mean it.”

“This is very true,” Quaranir agreed, “I still hold the belief you will lead the College of Winterhold one day.”

“Perhaps. When I am an old man with years of wisdom. I think Tolfdir is better suited for now.”

“Likewise I agree.”

“Uh, sir. I have a question. You said your order weren't able to interfere with the College. But what about lending a hand in our world?”

“What leads you to believe we don't?” Quaranir gestured with a hand, and the shade of another familiar face appeared: that of Guardian Elaine.

Harry couldn't help but smile.

“Your words bring me much comfort.”

“I must take my leave. You follow a good path, a _just_ path. Continue to follow it, and only great things will befall you.” 

Quaranir's shade vanished, and the world returned to focus.

“Harry? Harry?! Can you hear me?” Harry found himself still laying on the ground, his mind still spinning from the experience. Spartacus had crawled over, and was roughly shaking him.

“Just... bloody hell... gods, that was painful.” 

Harry found his entire body was shaking nearly uncontrollably.

“I've heard about the Cruciatus curse—the pain curse. That... that, I think that's what it would feel like. Are... y-you okay?”

“Fuck, my head... Jupiter's cock, everything hurts,” Varro complained, getting into a sitting position close by. Crixus still lay prone, barely moving, while Pietros was completely out of it, the pain having sent him into the bliss of unconsciousness. The pair of guards had fared no better, one appeared to have both soiled and pissed himself from the experience.

There was no time to rest, however, as the circles still arced with incredible amounts of energy, and the air still sizzled, as though lightning poised to strike the area. There was one thing Harry still needed to do.

Steeling his nerves, he again thrust his wand at the centre circle.

“ _Activate_!”

There came a god-awful crack as several bolts of lightning hurled down from the heavens, to impact the centre circle, and with it, came an enormous swirling mass of purple energy, identical to that which formed from a summoning spell. Another tremendous crack came, and the swirling ball of energy fell, leaving an unmistakable orb in its place.

“The same as in my dream,” Spartacus remembered.

“The same, yes. The Eye of Magnus. Gods...”

“What does it do?” Varro dared ask.

“It has the power to make, and unmake the world. To do great things, and to do terrible things. It's all about intent,” Harry explained, as he began casting a series of spells to the north circle. “Right now, I need to get it into position so it will be found many years into the future.”

And now, they all knew exactly what was at play.

“You come from a distant future,” said Crixus. It was not a question.

“Information that is covered by the secrecy charm I've placed on all of you. Up until a few days ago, I knew not of the purpose behind my unintended journey here. Now, I know exactly why. What I do now secures my future.”

“And what of ours?” asked Varro.

“Not my place to say. I know of some of it... that each of you leave your mark on history. Some of it great, some of it not so. Equally, what I take of my time here, will most definitely impact my future.”

“Such power. Even I can feel—“ one of the guards had finally gotten the nerve to approach it and reach out to touch it.

“NO!” Harry shouted, but it was too late. The instant the man's hand came into contact with the sphere, there came a deafening CRACK. The energy surged into the man unimpeded, the result being instant. In place of the man, lay a pile of ash.

“DO NOT touch it. Gods.” He whispered a spell, and gave a grim nod, seeing that the work had not been ruined. “Give me a bit of room.”

The next fifteen minutes saw Harry cast even more spells, each one of them causing the Eye to shrink somewhat in size, until it was about half of what it was. Of course there was a shrinking charm, but it would have no effect on a magical artefact such as the Eye. The reduction had to be done in a different manner.

Now, came the final part of the exercise: to sink the immensely powerful artefact into the ground, out of sight. It was actually the easiest part of the exercise, requiring the least amount of power. Harry was already feeling weary from the amount of magic being cast, but he pressed on, determined to see things to conclusion. There would be time for rest once everything was finished. He concentrated on the orb, this time calling on the lessons he'd learned from the College, pressing the great object out of sight. Now being fuelled by the earth's energy, it took a matter of minutes to position it into its final resting place. With it completed, Harry sagged to the ground, spent.

“Guys... come gather around. We return to the villa.” He reached a hand into his rucksack, and drew out another plate that had been pre-programmed before they left.

They landed roughly in Spartacus' cell. It was a good thing the cell had been enlarged, for the landing would have been much more painful otherwise. Harry quickly regained his bearings, but realized he wouldn't be doing anything much over the next while; the ritual had been beyond taxing. He gestured to the guard who had finally regained his feet.

“Send for Batiatus. The lot of us will be doing very little, so he'll need to attend us here.”

“I'll see to it.” The guard quickly left the cell.

“I now know the true meaning of pain,” said Crixus, who rested against the wall. He was still shaking somewhat, and a glance at the others revealed all were in roughly the same shape.

“I am truly sorry you all had to experience that,” said Harry, sadly, “If I had known, I would not have asked of your help. Causing any of you further pain is the last thing I would ever want to do.”

“Harry. Do not fault yourself. You honour us by asking our help,” said Spartacus.

“And we were happy to lend hands to purpose,” said Crixus.

“How... are you able... how can you stand so quickly... after so much pain?” Pietros managed. Of the four companions, Pietros was in the worst shape. He had remained on the floor, and still barely moved. It seemed that just lifting his head to speak had taken all the strength he had.

“I've experienced much pain before. All of the spells and curses I use during training, I have been on the receiving end of every one of them. That we are all still conscious and sane speaks volumes, does it not? Many lesser men have been rendered a quivering babbling wreck, destined to spend months in the care of a healer—and some... never recover.”

“Where did such a curse come from?” Varro questioned.

“To be honest, I'm not sure. The notes only told me that the ritual would summon the Eye of Magnus from where it was being held. No further information on the how's or the why's. And in some cases, this sort of thing holds true. Something that's not really been done before on that sort of scale, be ready for anything.”

“How long will this condition last?” questioned Crixus.

“A few hours, or it could last a few days. To each of you it will be different. I could kick myself for not keeping extra pain relief potions in my inventory. They would have eased the discomfort. Best thing for now is lots of rest.”

“The medicus will have herbs that will assist with rest,” said Spartacus.

It was then that Batiatus entered the cell, along with Doctore. They surveyed the scene a moment, and both men frowned.

“You look of death,” said Doctore.

“Thanks. Feel of it, too,” said Harry, grimacing. “I'm afraid the lot of us won't be doing much or going all that far. There was an unfortunate and unexpected side effect from the ritual.”

“As my guard has relayed.”

“We'll need the services of the medicus. I will cover the cost of any supplies required to help recovery.”

“Summon the medicus,” Batiatus directed a guard standing at the door. He turned back to Harry. “Your purpose was successful then?”

“It was. Though, injury to your men was most certainly not expected, nor was the death of another. I will compensate you for your loss.”

That got another frown from the lanista.

“How much time before they return to training?” Doctore asked.

“As I have explained to these guys already, it could take hours or days, everyone is different. The lot of us have just experienced pain on an unimaginable scale. Imagine, if you would, having tiny needles that had been heated so they were white-hot, stabbing you over every inch of your body. Pain so great, you would beg for death—you would promise your very soul, if only the pain would end. Yet it continues, merciless, unending.

“That's what we just felt. In my world, there is a name for that particular curse; the Cruciatus curse... the torture curse. It's illegal in every Wizarding community I'm aware of, including here. A witch or wizard caught using it gets a life sentence in prison.”

“The effects are temporary?”

“In this case, yes.” 

Harry held out a hand in front of him, and no surprise, it was still trembling slightly.

“Though it felt like an eternity, I figure it was only about fifteen to twenty seconds. We've all been somewhat attuned to pain, so the effects will lessen much more quickly.”

Batiatus made an angry face.

“This will be the last time you will borrow any of my slaves.” He stalked out of the cell.

“He does know it's not my fault,” Harry fumed, “Gods, had I known, I would not have asked for their help.”

“He speaks without thought.” Doctore glanced at the others. “Rest, and find yourselves back on the sand.”

* * *

 

More time passed. As had been hoped, it had only taken a few days for everyone to be back on their feet, and back to training. Harry was spending more and more of his time in the Virtual Projection Room, now reading from eleventh grade textbooks and level seven magical textbooks. If he ever returned to his own world, he would likely be well on his way to taking his N.E.W.T. exams, well ahead of the game in many ways. That would also go for his regular schooling—though it was likely Justin would find a few holes in the lessons and catch everything up.

His sessions in the V.P.R. also involved reading from the two black books, the property of Hermaeus Mora. He knew to be careful... each time he opened one of them, he could hear the whispering of dozens of voices, a very harsh warning of the dangers of extended exposure to them. Knowledge taken from then had a cost in the end; no knowledge was free. Particularly not when it involved artefacts of Hermaeus Mora.

Outside of his private study sessions, he found it once again difficult to manoeuvre about the residence, since Ilithyia was then a long-term guest, much as he was. Harry now disliked the woman, and on more than one occasion found himself daydreaming about the many different ways he would like to humiliate the blonde snake. Unfortunately, doing so would likely draw the ire of his hosts, if not draw suspicion on the slaves. Last thing he would want was for the kind people who served Batiatus to end up getting some sort of severe beating on the count of a prank.

No, he would mete out a different sort of justice, when proper the time and opportunity presented itself. For now, he fell back on his invisibility cloak and silencing charms to get around the vexing woman.

Travelling about in such a manner had an unfortunate side effect of putting him into position to witness the darker side of the residence. Case in point, on a particular early evening, as he travelled the passage leading up from the ludus, he came upon a disturbing sight.

One of the guards was struggling with one of the house slaves—Mira, if Harry remembered correctly. Her outfit had been shredded, her skin exposed, her face now marred with blood. Harry watched for a few moments, debating on what to do. How would Batiatus react, if he were to intervene?

Things were about to get worse, as Spartacus appeared from the opposite direction, a guard tailing him—likely he was returning to the ludus. This was an inevitable train wreck.

“Spartacus—“ Mira whimpered.

“Still your tongue,” the guard hissed.

“What grievance has the woman given?” Spartacus demanded, becoming angry at what he was seeing.

“None which concerns you.”

“She is known to me.”

“This one is known to every cock in the villa. Move off.”

“Tell me her grievance,” Spartacus again demanded, moving closer.

“I gave you command, slave,” the guard hissed, drawing his club.

“Wait—“ the trailing guard shouted, but it was too far along at this point. The club swung, and Spartacus reacted instinctively, grabbing it, and wrenching the man around so he crashed into the wall, his face mashing up against a scorching hot sconce. It was hot enough to sear a wire-mesh burn on the man's face. The other guard was now forced to draw his sword, just as Batiatus arrived on the scene. 

Now, Harry had to act. He pulled the cloak off, to make himself known.

“I have to wonder, what Quintus thinks about one of his guards having his way with the house slaves.”

“H-h-how long... have you been there?” the guard asked, guiltily.

“Long enough to know exactly what you were doing. Release her from your clutches. Immediately.”

The guard numbly did as ordered, and Mira scampered over to where Harry stood. He pressed a finger to her busted lip, healing it instantly. Another gesture of the hand cleaned up her tattered outfit.

“You.” Harry gestured to the second guard. “See Spartacus to the ludus. I'm sure he can be granted extra reward for protecting the property of the Dominus.”

The guard sheathed his blade, then glanced at Batiatus, who grudgingly gave a nod. He then escorted Spartacus down the corridor out of sight.

“Forgive my overstepping, but this... this was unforgivable. I would suggest this moron be sent to a part of the house where he won't be an offence to the female members nor their servants. I'd like to see him pull a stunt like that with Ilithyia, see how far he gets."

“Though Harry oversteps, so do you," Batiatus growled, rounding on the guard, "A months' wages, forfeited. And you will be moved to patrol the ludus, to prevent future calamity.”

The guard moved to protest, but Batiatus continued, “Should you press further, coin will be replaced with blood. See to the medicus.”

The guard cast Harry the most hateful look of loathing he could muster, and stormed off.

“Sorry for overstepping. But Spartacus only did as he felt was right. Had he not intervened, I would certainly would have.”

“Gratitude.” Batiatus glanced at Mira. “Return to the villa.”

Mira only managed a nod, before scampering back up through the corridor. Harry, meanwhile, wanted to bang his head on the wall. “Fucking hell... the idea of using my cloak, was to escape becoming entwined in sordid affairs.”

“Yet you again find yourself with cheeks spread while the gods ram cock in ass.”

Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Sometime later, he found the guard had been moved to the square. He stood at the far corner, and most unfortunately, directly beside the door to Spartacus' cell. That would only end badly. 'Perhaps, a permanent solution is needed,' Harry thought, reaching into his rucksack, and pulling out a familiar black book.

He'd read a short passage in the book, and now knew how it worked—it had likely been a personal message from the book's owner. Now, he pressed a finger to the spine, speaking, “May the owner of this book claim the next soul who opens it." The book shimmered an acid green for a moment, and fell still.

Harry threw his invisibility cloak over his head, and approached the edge of the cliff, then placed the book on the ground. It looked a little suspicious, so now the question: how to get the guard to read it. Harry crept back over to the common area, where Spartacus and Varro were sitting, and cast a small compulsion charm on the guard. It was like taking candy from a baby, as the man moved away from the wall he was leaning against, and made for the book. Satisfied, Harry removed the cloak, momentarily startling his friends.

“Harry.”

“What did Batiatus say?” Spartacus asked.

“Nothing much after. Though I see he—“ Harry had to hide a smirk, as the guard picked up the book, and opened it.

To those watching, it was as if a demon had been summoned from the underworld. A mass of tentacles had shot out from the middle of the book, lifting the guard off the ground. His mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out of it. Instead, a blob consisting of a mass of eyes and tentacles formed close by, and all of them gazed at the victim. The voice that came from them, however, was directed at Harry.

“Ah, friend of my champion... you please me yet again. Though his soul and mind are... somewhat weak... I still welcome the addition in the _endless_ stacks of my library.”

Another tentacle blasted from the book, to pierce the man's skull. It brought instant death.

"Until we meet again... friend of my champion."

The mass of tentacles vanished, as did the eyes, leaving the guard's lifeless body spasming in a pool of his own blood.

“What... what... what abomination was that?!” Varro looked horrified, as did a good number of others in the room.

“The fool stomped on my dick nerve, so I paid him in kind. Sometimes, the price of blood is not enough. He'll suffer for an eternity, at the whim of a very _different_ master.”

“Harry, friend, you truly terrify us at times,” said Crixus, shaking his head. He sat two tables over.

Harry gave an evil grin. “The truly scary thing is, I could have sent him to an eternity in a place far worse. Unfortunately, it would have meant me actually killing the man myself, and I would rather not. Why should I stain my hands with blood, when I can have someone else carry out the deed?”

The gladiators all looked just a little frightened at Harry's tone, and far worse, came the implications from what had just happened. By appearance, he served a demon master from the underworld. Though he had acted against an unruly guard (word had travelled rather quickly about what had transpired not long previous), what prevented the man from turning on the slaves? Needless to say, sleep was in short supply within the ludus that night.

The the morning that followed, however, everything seemed to be back to normal. The usual group of gladiators gathered for the morning's mental exercises, which then led to the regular training session.

“You are aware of the Toga Virilis party?” Varro asked, as he and Harry worked together.

“For a while, yeah. Quintus and Lucretia have been on about it for the last few days. I know it's a big deal and all—you guys had all best be on your best behaviour.”

“Or suffer your wrath added to any wrought by the guards. There is wager as to who may be more terrifying when angry: you, or Doctore.”

Harry let out a laugh, and parried Varro's sword thrust.

“That so? I'm sure my regular trainers will get a chuckle out of that when they see the heap of memories I will share.”

With lunch over and the afternoon training session beginning, Harry again joined them, since the villa was abuzz with preparations for the birthday party that evening. However, before he could really get started, Spartacus entered the common area, with a slightly older-looking Numerius. Gods, Harry realized, he'd been there that long?

“Numerius, good to see you again,” Harry said, simply, “I should wish you a happy birthday.”

“Gratitude!” the boy answered, excitedly.

Harry reached into his rucksack, and summoned a steel dagger he'd crafted a couple of years prior—one of the first pieces he'd made well.

“It's not much, but this blade was one of the first pieces I ever crafted. May it protect you as it did me until it was replaced.”

“Gratitude! I will treasure it always.” The boy was all smiles, as Harry passed over the blade, handle first.

The three of them began walking at the edge of the square, while training began in earnest. A pair of guards trailed them at a respectable distance. Numerius was watching the men, almost in a trance.

“What is it like,” he finally asked, “Having the life of another resting in your hands?”

“My sword may deliver the final blow, but a gladiator's fate is for the crowd and the editor to decide.”

Numerius seemed to think it over for a moment, then was drawn to the far end of the square that did not have a wall.

“You have no wall by the cliff!” he exclaimed, making to bolt for the edge. Harry put a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“The very reason I find it best not to train there,” said Spartacus.

“Has anyone fallen below?”

“I have witnessed none.”(1)

“But I'm sure there are those of us who have a list of those deserving of such a fall,” said Harry, nastily.

“Harry...” Spartacus gave his young friend a glare. “Apologies for his tongue. Come. It has been too long since we last trained. Let us see what you remember.”

A trio of practice swords were quickly brought, but Spartacus waved one of them off.

“Our young warrior already carries steel.”

“But...”

“Numerius. It's perfectly safe,” Harry answered, “I'm sure the champion of Capua can more than easily defend against your blade. Come on, let's see what you know.”

Numerius only grinned madly and drew his new blade from its sheath, and took up a rough ready stance.

“Good. Spread your feet a bit... excellent.” 

Harry was somewhat impressed. This boy had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, most likely, and yet, a little work could turn him into a true warrior. Harry reached into his satchel, and drew out one of his blades, which had an invisible safety sheath over it. A simple press of the finger could remove it, but for the purposes of training and demonstration, it was best to keep it on. Numerius was entranced by the deadly beauty.

“This was a gift from a dear friend back where I'm from,” Harry explained, holding it out so the boy could get a close look at it, “Since my skill easily matches the men here, it is protected so I don't cause unnecessary injury.”

He momentarily glanced up at the balcony, and inwardly sighed. That would explain why his ears were burning. The blonde snake was again boring holes in the back of his head as she stood at the rail, along with Lucretia and Numerius' mother. He forced himself to pay attention, remembering all too well what happened the last time the woman pushed him to distraction.

“I fear Spartacus holds us at a disadvantage,” said Numerius, comparing his weapon with Harry's.

“That will be your first lesson. Perhaps, in some cases, you would be correct. For our weapons to be effective, we must get close. Spartacus... extend your blade.”

Spartacus held his blade out in an attack position.

“Take note of his reach. Now, Numerius, I will mirror his formation so you may compare the difference.” Harry copied the stance of his friend. The Daedric blade was certainly long as far as daggers were concerned, but the wooden gladius Spartacus held was easily twice its length, and more than twice its weight.

“Now, young friend. How would you overcome his advantage?”

A noisy crash immediately had their attention, preventing Numerius from answering, as Crixus had brutally attacked his sparring partner, sending him sprawling to the ground. He stood there, heaving, and called out, “The Magistrate's son graces our sands... and  _this_ is what greets him?”

He gestured angrily to his opponent, still sprawled out on the sand.

“Would that I had an opponent worthy of his interest.”

No one moved for a few moments, before Duro finally stepped forward with a practice sword.

“I would spar with you.”

Crixus snorted. “I meant a  _real_ gladiator.”

Duro simply attacked. Crixus, however, was ready, and batted away the assault as if it were an annoying bug. He then slammed the guy in the face with his shield, sending him crashing to the ground.

“Crixus shows impeccable form.”

“I shall prove otherwise at your ceremony tonight,” Spartacus promised.

Numerius simply grinned, while Crixus glared at the rest of the gladiators.

“Does anyone else challenge Crixus?”

“Our fight is not yet finished.” Duro had climbed back to his feet, his face bloody.

“Stand down, pup. Before your shrivelling cock wets the sand.”

Harry felt the urge to bang his head against the wall, seeing the German have yet another go at the former champion. This was not going to end well, and a glance at Numerius confirmed the boy was being rabidly entertained by the spectacle.

In the end, Doctore cracked his whip and put a stop to it. Crixus stormed out of the square and into the common area, leaving Duro a bloody mess. He managed to get to his feet, only barely, but the rest of the men swarm around him, cheering in congratulations.

Numerius was confused. “The man is soundly defeated, yet treated as victor?”

“A sign of respect,” answered Spartacus, “For his courage.”

“Is every day like this?”

“Mostly,” Harry answered, shooting Spartacus a glance.

“Perhaps if your father is agreeable...”

“We could continue with more lessons sometime soon,” Harry finished.

“Really?!”

“Well... it's up to your father, but I think Quintus wouldn't mind in the least. A boy should know how to properly handle a blade.”

The afternoon neared its end, and all too quickly, Numerius was escorted back up into the villa, his robes rather dusty from the exercise. Harry and Spartacus had given him a training session he would not soon forget, although the boy had relished the activity.

Now, Harry found himself dressed in his best robes, as he plied the busy villa, swarmed with dozens of the upper-class society in Capua, and beyond. He didn't know all that detailed being the magistrate, but it didn't take a lot to figure out the man carried much weight in Roman society. Both Quintus and Lucretia seemed to be absolutely aglow with the potential prestige and potential such an event would bring—and Harry easily understood that. It was all about the coin and recognition in the end, neither of which really mattered to  _him_ .

The friendship he had formed with Spartacus, Varro, Pietros, and to a lesser extent, Crixus, was worth more than all the coin he had ever possessed—earned or not. A part of him still ached, knowing it would eventually come to an end, when Harry returned to where he belonged. It could happen tomorrow, a week later, a year later, but eventually, he would be rescued.

“At last, I meet the mysterious other guest of the House of Batiatus.” 

The man who spoke appeared older than Batiatus, with long, tidy blond hair that was done up in ringlets.

“I'm sorry.... and you are?”

“Marcus Decius Solonius, at your service,” the man introduced himself, with a bow.

“Oh. Well then, the pleasure is mine. I'm Harry.” He returned the bow. No sense in offending someone without knowing the entire story.

“You have stayed under their roof for some time,” said Solonius.

“Yes. Their hospitality has been greatly appreciated.”

“Know that there are many secrets within these walls, that not all is as it may seem.”

Harry only grinned.

“I know of the snake pit, and make a habit of steering well clear. And I would not have that repeated.”

“My tongue will remain forever silent,” said Solonius, offering a smile of his own.

“I know this may be a personal question, and you don't have to answer, but... you used to be very close to Quintus. What happened?”

Solonius frowned, then let out a sigh.

“We sought a similar purpose, but through different means. I came to see the man for what he truly is. He is simply a man that holds no one in esteem beyond himself. You would do well to remember that, young Harry.”

“Your words of warning are not necessary, my friend. There are those back in my world who would treat me in such a manner.”

He clapped Solonius on the back.

“I do lament for the loss of friendship between you. To be close for so long, only for one to abuse the privilege in such a way.”

“Your words comfort the heart.”

“Come! Gather, esteemed guests!” Batiatus called out, standing beside the Magistrate and his son. He glanced over at Solonius, and added, “And those of questionable repute.”

Harry frowned at the dig, while the rest of the guests all gathered around the temporary wooden platform erected in the atrium.

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” said Harry, as they parted ways. Harry stopped in front of Spartacus, while Batiatus continued the commencement.

“Good luck.”

“We will give Numerius a show he won't forget,” said Spartacus, with a smile. It abruptly vanished, as he locked eyes with Ilithyia, standing across the room.

“...yet before he dons the Toga Virilis, let us honour him with sport and blood! A contest between present and past! Spartacus, Champion of Capua! Step forward!”

Spartacus stepped out from the rest of the ranks, and Harry clapped him on the back before moving on.

“And Crixus!” Batiatus continued, “Former champion, step—“

“Wait,” Numerius spoke. Crixus stopped mid-step, looking confused, as did both Batiatus and Harry. Wasn't the contest supposed to be between Spartacus and Crixus? Harry's eyes immediately flicked to Ilithyia, his suspicions rising.

“I fear Crixus has seen his best day past. I would have Varro fight in his place.”

“You are the editor, young master!” Batiatus recovered, “Your will, our hands! Varro! Step forward!”

Crixus looked absolutely crushed, while Varro stepped forward to stand beside Spartacus. Harry, meanwhile, circled the room, to stand a little closer to the blonde snake. What was she up to? Ah. Twisting the mind of a boy. How low would this woman go? Question then, what to do? He weaved his way out of sight, as Doctore gave instructions to the chosen combatants, while weapons and shield were brought forward.

After a quick, hushed conversation with his wife, Batiatus stepped forward again.

“Numerius! These men, these titans of the arena, are yours to command!”

Numerius stepped forward, raised his fist, and brought it down sharply. “Begin!”

Harry now knew the extent of Ilithyia's plan, as the pair of friends faced off on the small platform. Again, though, what to do? Time was of the essence, so he slipped into the office, sealing the door from entry. He then produced his chest, and climbed inside, collecting a few items that would be of use.

He returned to the crowd just in time, although now, no one knew of his presence, thanks to his boots and his invisibility cloak. Spartacus had a nasty gash in his right side, but Varro now sported a nasty slice across his chest. Spartacus was missing one of his swords, but Varro now worked without his shield—a dangerous scenario for a Murmillo.

Spartacus, seizing an opening, sliced at Varro's flank with his remaining sword, and swept out with a left foot, sending his friend crashing to the plank floor, resulting in him losing his sword. Varro scrambled back to his knees, but found Spartacus pressing a sword to his neck. The blond gladiator only smiled, raising the two-finger surrender of the missio.

The gathering instantly clapped and cheered at the splendid performance, while Varro muttered, “My fucking flank!”

“Protect it, and next time it may be you who stands victorious.”

Harry had moved to be directly in front of the two combatants, as Batiatus again addressed the crowd.

“Spartacus, the Champion of Capua still! And Varro, a formidable challenger, to be closely watched in the arena!”

There was more applause from the gathering, as Batiatus looked to Numerius.

“Numerius! Pass judgement on our fallen warrior!”

Harry hoped he would not need to act, but his thoughts were for nought, as Numerius delivered the dreaded thumb-down, a damning decision for Varro. The room fell quiet, eyes now fixed on the young man, standing there, thumb still pointed down as if it were a declaration of manhood. 'How dare he!' Harry fumed in his head, remembering how innocently the boy had been earlier in the day. Yet his real fury was for the blonde snake, smiling as if everything was right with the world. 'Yeah, her world,' he snorted in his head.

“Apologies, Magistrate,” said Batiatus, forcing a smile, “but we agreed this was merely an exhibition. Not a fight to the death.”

Numerius, though, again glanced to Ilithyia, before turning to his father.

“Father...”

The Magistrate could only grin, proud of his son.

“Numerius has made his decision. I shall reimburse you the cost of the man.”

Batiatus stood silent, as he weighed his options. Then.

“Proceed.”

Spartacus did not move, and Harry could see he was at a loss. Both were trapped, essentially.

“Do not move, neither of you,” Harry whispered. Spartacus flicked his eyes to where he guessed the voice had come from. “I have a plan.”

“Do we have a problem, Batiatus?” the Magistrate questioned, his tone all business.

“I said _proceed_ ,” Batiatus ordered.

“Three... two... one,” Harry whispered.

Then, a small black orb-like object dropped to the floor directly in front of the pair of combatants, making a strange 'clink' sound as it met the floor. It let out one 'chirp'... two 'chirps'... three 'chirps'... now having everyone's attention, before going off like a firework. Instantly, the room fell to complete darkness.

“Jupiter's cock!” Varro muttered, feeling Spartacus' blade penetrate his shoulder ever so slightly.

“Apologies.” The sword noisily clattered to the platform. Both of them felt hands grip them, and there came the terrible sensation of being squeezed through a very tight space. Varro could feel his eyes being pressed through the back of his head... and then it was over. He collapsed to the floor, heaving, Spartacus in no better condition.

“What the fuck was that?!” Spartacus demanded.

“Apparition. Apologies. Do not leave the chest for any reason. Pietros!”

“Harry?”

“Help them with their wounds. I'll be back soon as I can. Again, do NOT leave the ch—never mind, I'm collecting it.”

Making sure the chest was secure, Harry noisily Disapparated back to the atrium, and slammed another object into the platform. Almost instantly, the most putrid odour one could possibly imagine seeped into the air. There came shrieks and shouts, as the patrons made a mad dash for clean air and light—the room was still pitch black.

Harry made another noisy Apparation, this time to the triclinium, where a number of guests had ventured, though the darkness was seeping into the room. Most had now swarmed out onto the balcony, or left the villa through the upper doors.

Satisfied at the chaos he had caused, Harry once again Disapparated, this time back to Spartacus' cell, where he reopened the chest.

“What have you done?” Varro demanded, “Batiatus will have you crucified, never mind _us_!”

“I strongly doubt it,” said Harry, shaking his head, “Particularly when I explain my reasoning—that's if he actually figures out I had a hand in it. It seems our little blonde snake was rather busy this afternoon. Pietros. I need you to wait in the common area for Doctore. Inform him that both Spartacus and Varro are under my watch. I have no doubt there will be an accounting, last thing I would want is for them to be suspected of escaping.”

“I will see it done,” said Pietros.

Harry glanced at his two friends. “Hold still a moment.” Harry gestured to the shallow gash on Varro's chest, and it swiftly vanished.

“Gratitude.”

“Anywhere else—never mind.” Harry gestured again, and the shallow stab wound on his shoulder also vanished.

“Apologies,” said Spartacus, “The device Harry used gave me surprise.”

“As I was equally surprised. What exactly was it?”

“Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It, as you saw, causes instant darkness that no light can penetrate. It'll be a while before Batiatus gets everything back in order.” Harry gave an evil smirk. “Y'know, it's a shame I wasn't able to see the look on Ilithyia's face, to see her so cleverly executed little plot go up in flames.”

“I would surrender all my winnings in the arena, should you lend her that tome you carry,” said Spartacus.

“If I knew I could get away with it and not damage the future, I would gladly do so. Alas, since I am unsure, I cannot.” 

Harry gestured at the nasty wound in Spartacus' side. It closed some, but not completely.

“Hmmm... Gods, you got him good. Let's try again...” another gesture, and this time the wound closed completely, although it was still red and sore-looking.

“Gratitude.”

It was an hour later before Pietros returned to the chest, Batiatus in tow, and the man was practically breathing fire. Both Spartacus and Varro remained on the comfortable chairs, but remained silent. Batiatus cast both men a gaze that could kill, before turning to Harry.

“Explain!” he demanded.

“The snake once again meddles in your affairs. I only sought to prevent a terrible injustice.”

“What proof do you have?!”

“What I saw with my own eyes, through means I am forbidden to discuss. All you need to know, is Ilithyia climbed into the bath and seduced a fifteen year old boy, then coerced him to murder one of your best fighters. That's coin that would no longer flow into your purse. I need not remind you, she has caused the death of one of your men already.”

“ _Fuck_ his coin! And _fuck_ Segovax, he was but a recruit!” Batiatus raged, “Your hand now causes grave insult! I now balance the value of your presence with the _calamity_ you bring _with_ it!”

Harry blew out a breath, and reached out a hand, summoning one of the few bottles of firewhiskey he still had. He popped the cork, and took a swig from the the bottle.

“I'm sorry if my actions hurt your interests, Quintus. But I wasn't going to just stand back and let that little holier-than-thou, 'proper Roman woman' carry on with another disgusting little plot to cause your house further injury. You know what sort of nightmares unfold when she and Spartacus are in the same room. That's exactly what this was all about. Why does she stay?”

“For reasons which do not concern you,” answered Batiatus, in a frosty tone, “I still hear no good reason to balance what transpired here tonight.”

“Fine. I see that you are perhaps beyond reason. Tomorrow, then, I will bid my farewells, since it appears I have wore out my welcome. Perhaps good Solonius—“

It was as if a light switch had been flicked on. A momentary expression of dread actually crossed Batiatus' face, as the thought crossed his mind of the young wizard lending support to his rival.

He relented.

“If anything is to be salvaged from this calamity, young Numerius is fixed on return for further training. You will see to it.”

“Easily done. I'll be having a small conversation with the young man about proper behaviour, and more specifically, about the consequences of ones actions.”

“I—“

“What if she asked him to attack you? Your wife? Remember what she asked of Segovax. He was a slave, yes, but it goes to my point. She'll use anyone to advance her own plots and ambitions. And when she's done with you and yours, she'll throw you by the wayside.”

Batiatus thought a moment.

“I had not considered it.”

“You likely don't consider a lot of things. The woman is nothing but evil. Her continued presence will bring about your total ruin.”

Batiatus let out another sigh, and held out a hand for the bottle. Harry inwardly smirked; the man had not had firewhiskey before.

“It's strong.”

“After tonight, strong will be welcome,” said Batiatus, accepting the bottle. He took a swig, and Harry had to snatch the bottle before it fell, as the man nearly collapsed from the shock.

A half hour later, Harry had to levitate the man up and out of the chest, for he was unable to stand on his own. A pair of guards took over, and escorted the man to his bed. Harry, meanwhile, retreated back into the chest.

“Jupiter's cock, and I thought Spartacus was favoured,” said Varro, shaking his head.

“Batiatus knows my words carry the truth, and it tears him up to admit it,” said Harry, as he summoned a quartet of glasses from the small kitchen area. “Let's have one drink, and get some sleep.”

* * *

 

It was two days later before Numerius returned to the villa, eager to get started with the lesson. However, Harry pulled him over to a corner under the overhang, while Spartacus and Varro waited in the common area.

“Young friend, you've disappointed me greatly. If not for honouring a promise made earlier, neither Spartacus or I would not be working with you.”

“I did nothing wrong,” Numerius defended.

“Not that you might see, no. But in fact, your mistake was allowing someone to cloud your judgement. Why did you wish Varro dead, when it was only supposed to be an exhibition, a friendly contest?”

“It... it was my right.”

“Perhaps, but what satisfaction do you get from seeing a man die?”

“He was but a gladiator...”

“And a friend, a good man, like I hope you will grow up to become, Numerius. Do you know that Varro has both a wife and a child beyond these walls? That all the coin he wins in the arena go to support them?”

Numerius looked down at the ground, guiltily.

“You may only see them as slaves, as property. Do not forget that each and every man here was born into this world. They had a mother and a father, who in most cases adored and loved their child. How many of them might have siblings, wives, children? How would you feel, if your mother were treated in such a manner as the slaves who attend to your needs?”

“I...”

“You didn't think of it that way, did you?”

“I did not.”

“I know that slavery is a way of life in your world. But it doesn't mean you have to discard them and be unkind. Treat them as people. Or see terrible things visit you in the future.”

“They would rise up against us?”

“When oppressed, it's downright terrifying what people are capable of. Do not give reason for them to do so.”

“Your words require thought.”

“That is the purpose of my words. Be a good man, Numerius. Do not fall to the whims of a pretty woman with a poisoned agenda.”

“A poisoned agenda?”

“Ilithyia hates Spartacus to near insanity. You fell into her trap, and it resulted in a terrible finish to your birthday celebration last night.”

“The darkness fell so suddenly, and no light would penetrate it! It was sorcery!”

“Perhaps. Perhaps the gods intervened, to prevent you from following through on a poor lapse in judgement.” 

Harry glanced to his left, finding both Spartacus and Varro approaching.

“Now. I think we're just about done with that nasty bit of business. Just one last thing... something I think you owe both of these gentlemen.”

It clearly bothered Numerius, being practically forced to do it.

“Apologies, to both of you. I... my judgement was clouded.”

“It is accepted, young Numerius,” answered Varro, clapping the young man on the shoulder. All was forgiven.

“Now, then. Let's begin. You have your blade with you?”

“I carry it always.” Numerius produced his blade, ready to start the lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry lays down the law for Ilithyia; the Commonwealth at last establishes a portal to Harry's location, and he's reunited with his old friends—resulting in a dramatic show of emotion; and Spartacus suffers a serious injury requiring the assistance of a healer...  
>  _CHAPTER NOTES:_  
>  _(1) In canon, Spartacus hurled Gnaeus off the cliff in retribution for his treatment toward Pietros.__


	28. Old Circle Meets the New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry lays down the law for Ilithyia; the Commonwealth at last establishes a portal to Harry's location, and he's reunited with his old  
>  friends, resulting in a dramatic show of emotion; and Spartacus suffers a serious injury requiring the assistance of a healer..._

**28: OLD CIRCLE MEETS THE NEW**

**Unknown dates, 73 BCE / 3 Hearthfire, 4E201**

* * *

It was the early morning hours a few days later, when Harry crept into the bedchamber Ilithyia was using. He threw up the strongest silencing charms he knew of.

“Ilithyia, it's time we have a little _chat_ ,” Harry spoke, calmly. The woman shot up, not expecting a man to wander into her bedchamber—particularly not the dark-haired visitor that had up to this point made strong efforts to avoid her advances. Unfortunately, she was to learn very quickly, his visit was not for social reasons.

“Why Harry—“

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!”

Ilithyia felt her arms and legs snap together, so she were frozen like a statue. She couldn't even move her head! What was he doing to her?! Her mind was in panic mode, as the young man slowly circled the bed, smiling serenely.

“Where to begin. Ah, I know.”

She found his eyes boring into hers, and a storm of images suddenly crashed in front of Ilithyia's eyes... memories, thoughts... _secrets_ . Secrets she had swore to the gods she would take to her grave... and yet this _boy_ now knew them all.

Harry, meanwhile, snatched at what he saw as the most scandalous secret of all.

“So. You murdered Licinia. I'm sure _poor senator Crassus_ would love to have closure on the matter. Word is, he's been devastated at her disappearance. Offering quite the reward purse for information on her whereabouts.”

Though her body was frozen, the pupils of her eyes dilated wildly, and Harry smirked, knowing his words had the desired effect.

“How does it feel, to be at the mercy of someone else, someone with the power to positively ruin all that you and your husband work toward? To know that there is not a thing you can do or say that could stop me?”

Harry let out a chuckle.

“Oh. How rude, we're having a conversation here, and I can't be seen just talking to myself, now.”

A gesture with a hand, and Ilithyia found she could move her head.

“Guards! Guards!” she screamed.

“Go ahead, scream all you like. Your shrieks and cries will not reach the ears of others. I've taken steps.”

“You take leave of your senses!” Ilithyia shrieked, “Guards!!!”

“My senses are perfectly fine, _tahrodiis mal prakem—_ treacherous little snake,” Harry hissed, sitting on the edge of the bed, “Now. Have I your undivided attention?”

“What... what... what shall you do with me?”

“A question I have asked myself, actually. I debated asking Spartacus about it, seeing as he's the one with the larger grievance with you, but... I think he will be more amused when I show him the outcome of this conversation.”

Harry's smile did not reach his eyes.

“Ilithyia Glaber. Time and time again, since I set foot in this house, you have caused numerous incidents, all of which causing great injury.”

“How have I grieved you?”

“Casting those hungry eyes at me, coveting my body, mentally soiling my body with your hands and your deeds. I wonder, what would Gaius think, if he were made aware of your infidelity—only mental as it might be—or wait... actually that's not entirely true.

“I remember quite well, the dreadful way you had your hands on me during that visit by your socialites... before poor Licinia was murdered, the poor dear.”

“She... she—“

“She, what? Found amusement at your expense? You murdered a friend just because she made fun of you. You act a child, throwing a tantrum every time you don't get your way. Well guess what, dearie? Life _sucks_. You can't stamp your foot and cry every time it doesn't come out all roses.”

Harry blew out a breath.

“Enough about what you have done. The point of my little bedside visit, is to discuss how you will behave from now on.”

“And how—“ Ilithyia began, finding her voice, but Harry cut her off.

“We'll discuss that momentarily. For now, I will be dictating a very strict set of boundaries. Myself, Pietros, Spartacus, Varro. Make that every other gladiator under this roof. They're off limits. You will not needle Lucretia into summoning them up into this villa for private viewing ever again. You will not look at a single one of them cross-ways. You will not lay hands on them should they be provided for entertainment of other guests. No matter how they may be presented, no matter what opportunity presents itself, they are off limits, without exception. They may as well be dead to you.

“Any plots or schemes you have afoot involving the residents of the house or the property within it, all die here and now. You will cease and desist your slighting and demeaning Lucretia. She is nearly the snake you are, but she has just a little more integrity, and in my books that goes a long way.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Oh come now.”

Harry snorted, and stood up. He began to pace in front of the bed.

“I know every little secret you try to hide in that tiny brain of yours. The murder of Licinia is perhaps the worst, but you realize there are many others that would bring your downfall, and likely that of your husband.

“You toe the line from here on out, it's that simple. Or I speak to Crassus about his missing cousin, and see you and your husband _burn_. If I find out so much as a _hair's breath_ about some scheme cast by your hand, no matter what it is, no matter who it involves, no matter how small it may seem to be, you and your husband will _burn_. You breathe one word of this conversation to a _soul_ , be them living or dead, even whispered to the _Gods themselves_ , you and your husband will _burn_. I will see that your name is so dishonoured they will order _Damnatio memoriae_ ,” Harry hissed, his eyes speaking as plainly as his lips. He was dead serious. “Are my words in any way _unclear_?”

Ilithyia blanched at the prospect.

“You... who would believe you?” she tried, though her mind were numb.

The young man she had so coveted was a demon from the underworld. This much was clear. Harry, meanwhile, let out a laugh.

“Oh come on.”

Harry gestured to himself, replacing his robes with the robes of a roman noble.

“Begging your pardon, senator, but I bring word of your cousin's possible whereabouts.”

He spoke with an air of importance, and then he smirked, seeing Ilithyia's spirit die just a little more.

“I'll make it very simple,” Harry smiled, restoring his clothes. “Don't fuck with me. Don't fuck with Spartacus. Don't fuck with Batiatus or his wife, and we'll get along just fine.

“As to our dealings, to make it plainly clear of where I stand on our relationship. _Tibi mortuus es mihi ad_. You are dead to me.”

Harry could feel the magic take form as it did his bidding, and smirked. It wasn't exactly intentional, but... all the better.

“May oblivion one day take you.”

Harry gestured with a hand, and vanished with a noisy CRACK. Ilithyia realized she could move, but she still lay perfectly still, shell-shocked at what had just happened. Here she thought she was being all clever and witty, indeed the snake in the grass, and here appears a shark, capable of devouring her whole. The words would fall from his tongue, and she would face execution, and nothing less, Gaius likely to follow. There was nothing left to do; she simply laid there and cried.

Spartacus was overcome with emotion when Harry allowed him and Varro to view the memory in the pensieve before they went out to the square to begin the day's training.

“I have no words, gratitude is not enough for this thing you have done in my honour,” the man spoke, after wiping his face with his hands.

“I acted for the honour of everyone within the walls of this house,” said Harry, “Ilithyia has abused the trust and friendship of Quintus and his wife. She schemed and plotted for your injury and downfall. She caused me equal injury, by putting you and Varro in harm's way. I only saw a way to end her mad schemes, before she brought the entire house down around her.”

“It is unlikely you could bring about _Damnatio Memoriae_ , though. Such things would only apply to those of much higher station,” said Varro.

“Never doubt the capabilities of a wizard,” Harry smirked, “Though... gods, there will be a number of people who will frown on what I've done to the woman. The place I was born in, they would call it abuse of a Muggle—err... non-magical.”

“You find no complaints from us,” said Varro, “Perhaps your action will bring peace.”

“All I can hope for. Another reason for my actions. It'll certainly be easier for me to travel about the villa now, without her hungry eyes following me.”

“You all but cursed her existence,” said Varro, shaking his head.

“I declared her dead to me. The magic will insure that. I can be right next to her, but she won't see me. Now if only I could make her invisible to my sight—“

“And mine,” Spartacus added.

“Yes, and yours... thing is, I don't know of a spell that could make something selectively invisible.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Agreed. No matter, my actions this morning have neutralized the snake for good. She has far too much to lose. Should I return to the world I belong in, I'll be sure to leave a nice package to ensure her ruin. You mind acting as a sort of messenger?”

“It would be my honour.”

Frustrated by the nightmares caused by the now-neutralized snake, Harry realized he needed a better picture of what was going on in the household. So it was, that he put most of his schoolwork on hold—not that he had a lot of it these days, considering he'd now completed his sixth grade magical textbooks, as well as his grade ten mundane studies. Now, he attended training less and less, mainly to either teach Numerius, whose lessons came twice a week, or to teach the lesson, also twice a week. More often than not, Harry drifted about the residence and the grounds unseen, as he unravelled other potential problems.

Very quickly he learned about Crixus and his relationship with Naevia. It seemed Naevia had procured a key that opened the lock which separated the villa from the ludus. Their late-night trysts were extremely dangerous—both would likely be flogged at the bare minimum.

Then there came the scheming of the third serpent in the house, the Syrian named Ashur. From Harry's standpoint, the only person Ashur truly stood for was himself. The plot he was hatching? To murder Numerius' father. For what purpose?

Worse still, Harry discovered the man responsible for the delivery of Sura. The man had claimed severe injury at the hand of bandits... yet, one night he lay surrounded by women, his bare abdomen plain to see, absent any scars. Now there was a train wreck waiting to happen. A simple glance at his mind revealed what truly happened: he had murdered Spartacus' wife on Batiatus' orders.

A flicker of rage crossed the young wizard's mind. The man had committed an equally monstrous act toward someone Harry called a dear friend. He was now torn on how to respond. On one hand, Spartacus had a right to know the truth behind Sura's fate. Yet, the truth would likely bring about thoughts of vengeance.

Before settling in for bed, Harry took out another page of paper, and penned another letter. The last time he'd tried had been several months prior. Still, he held hope that, just maybe, one would get through. The note was quite brief, but he signed it, sealed it, and dropped it into the post box.

The following morning, as Harry woke, he found Varro standing at the door to his room.

“That little box of yours takes on a life of its own.”

Harry flew from the bed faster than his friend had seen to date, and rushed to the post box. Sure enough, inside it was a sealed envelope with the distinctive seal of the Commonwealth. He clutched it in front of him afraid it would suddenly vanish, and crush his hopes of it being reality.

“It will not open itself,” said Spartacus, from the small table. It had become somewhat of a custom for the small group to have breakfast before joining the larger group outside.

“No... it will not,” said Harry, his eyes glistening with un-shed tears. He broke the seal, and pulled the parchment from the envelope.

 

_Harry,_

_We have received all of your letters, but only now can properly communicate back. The Commonwealth has the entire Arcane Sciences department at work with the Orb of Magnus. We'll force open a portal, they estimate likely within the next three to six hours._

_Whatever you do, do not venture far from the villa. The S.O.U. Have already been deployed to the current geographical location in our present, along with appropriate support. We know you're frantic, just have a little more patience, and we'll get you back where you belong. Her Majesty has issued a direct order that we will immediately provide a port key back to Skyrim, if that is your wish. No one will ever force you into something you don't want to do._

_Sit tight, we're on our way,_

_Justin_

 

Harry finally just broke down, overwhelmed. The past year had been an incredible journey, and yet, he had been isolated from everything and everyone he had ever known. To see it end, with everything hopefully returning to normal, he was simply held speechless.

“It is good news?” Pietros dared ask.

“I'm... I'm going home,” Harry cried.

Both Spartacus and Varro looked a little sad at the news, but they smiled for their friend. Both knew Harry desperately missed those from his own place, his own world.

“Though it saddens me with your passing, know that I am happy for you, Harry.”

“Likewise,” said Varro, “Your actions have saved my life.”

“Both of you, with that particular incident. Come. I must break unfortunate news with Doctore.”

“Another who will mourn your departure.”

“All of our brothers will equally mourn his departure, Varro.”

They joined the rest of the gladiators in the common area as breakfast was served.

“You look unwell,” said Crixus, noticing Harry's changed appearance.

“Happy news that is tempered with unfortunate consequences. Please finish up your breakfast, as I wish to address all of you. Not as instructor, but as friend.”

“The news you bring is unpleasant,” said Doctore, approaching the group.

“It is. I knew this day would come eventually,” said Harry, as the group expanded by one slipped out of the common area and out into the square. “Gods... this almost feels like home to me now. But now, there comes a message from my own world.”

Harry produced the letter, and allowed Doctore to read its contents.

“The gods bless you with a safe return.”

Harry smiled sadly.

“Yet brings me great sadness, since I leave all of you behind.”

“The gods have deemed your lessons here concluded. As much as you have learned from us, we have learned much from you.”

“The honour was all mine, Doctore.”

“Oenomaus.”

“Err... Oenomaus. I take all the lessons you have shown me to heart. And I do hope that, even without my magic, my lessons will somehow still be taught.”

“We will fashion a method. It has been some time since a gladiator trained in this ludus has fell in the arena. Your lessons are equally taken to heart.”

Finally, the gladiators all gathered on the sand, and Harry faced them with a sad smile.

“Today, I finally take my leave, and return to my own world. The gods have blessed me with your friendship, and the instruction your Doctore was willing to provide. I was equally honoured to be allowed to lead all of you in instruction from my own world, used to train my country's fighting men. I have no doubt that all of you would easily swell the ranks of her majesty's armed forces, if opportunity were presented. For that, I say, well done.”

He couldn't help but grin, seeing the men all glancing around at their fellow brothers.

“The training you have participated in has—and will save your life. I know this much.”

The men all cheered, and Harry again had to wipe his eyes.

“Right. Uh... let us begin our final lesson together...”

The morning lesson was light, as Harry's mind kept drifting to the imminent arrival of his old friends. When it finally ended, the gladiators shouted his name to the heavens as he walked off the square to get lunch. He had their absolute loyalty—though that had been the case for some time by this point. Each man would answer his call. Each would put their life on the line, if required. Perhaps another reason Batiatus had become a little colder toward the young wizard over the past couple of months. Where Batiatus commanded through demand and threat, Harry did so with friendship and reward.

As the afternoon lunch break wound down, there came a noisy crackle of energy from the far end of the square near the small shade. A purple sphere of energy appeared, and Harry instantly produced his blade. It could be the Commonwealth, but it could also be something else.

“Action stations,” Harry barked, the face of calm.

The entire ludus moved with swift precision. The box holding the steel weapons was quickly undone, with men arming themselves, and getting into position. Some stood directly with Harry, while others took position about the square. Guards positioned themselves on the balcony and at the gate, weapons also at the ready. The doors into the villa were slammed closed, the windows shuttered.

After the attack by dark wizards, Harry had devised a plan of action that the residence would take, should they face another magical attack. The drills happened at many different times during the day and night, all in the hopes of being ready for the real thing.

Now, the question was, was this the real thing, or was it the Commonwealth, at last able to come to Harry's rescue?

The answer came quickly, and to Harry's relief and hope, it was indeed the Commonwealth. First, came Guardian Elaine, resplendent in her white robes with gold trim. To the men gathered in the square, she looked like a goddess. Then, came Justin, Mazhe, Tommy, Brandon, and Eric. All of them gazed at the men gathered nearby, but Mazhe was shocked as Harry tackled the ginger-haired man to the ground and proceeded to lock lips and deliver a scorching kiss, driven by an unmitigated, burning desire never before felt by the young wizard.

That resulted in a bunch of the gladiators whistling and issuing cat-calls. Not breaking his snogging session, Harry simply flung a purple bolt of magic in a random direction, causing the men to duck.

As the pair finally broke for air, Mazhe looked at Harry, confused.

“Gods... what could possibly... we were only parted for a day at most...”

“My eyes have not gazed upon your face for nearly a year, Mazhe. All of you have been in my thoughts all of my waking hours. Even now, to see all of you here, a small part of me wonders if I have yet to wake, that still I lay in the land of dreams.”

“We are truly sorry it took so long. You secured the Orb not long ago, correct?” questioned Elaine.

“As I was directed to, yes,” said Harry, shaking her hand.

“It was only once the eye was in its place here and now, that we were able to at last make a connection. Your last letter provided the final piece to the puzzle,” Justin explained as they embraced, “Jesus, you have no idea the shit storm you've unleashed with this. The Arcane Sciences Division is going all ape-shit. They'll be studying this for—“

“Justin...” Harry frowned. Justin's face fell. Clearly, his dealings with the Commonwealth were still frigid. Harry's face softened, as he turned to the gladiators. “Stand down, we're clear.”

It was a precision motion, as blades were sheathed and shields placed at feet. The house was reopened, and the slaves responsible for the handling of equipment began collecting the weapons and returning them to the lock box.

“You've really been here a year?” Tommy asked, as they embraced briefly.

“Yeah. Or maybe eleven months. Or maybe longer. This point I don't really know.”

“The men move with precision. At least six months. Though more, my guess. Jesus, Harry, you've taught nearly two platoons of men here.” Tommy was impressed.

Harry grinned, then called out, “Duro! What is the purpose of our morning exercises?”

“A clear mind is set to purpose!” came the German's rapid, crisp reply.

Tommy arched an eyebrow. “You've been teaching the lessons I've taught you.”

“Every one of them with your face and your words firmly in memory, Tommy. All that I did here, I did recalling each of your voices while they taught me the same lesson.”

Harry found himself again wiping his eyes.

“Each day that passed, I feared that I would forget the sound of your voices, that your faces would suffer an equal fate, that I would cease to remember my first circle. I may have become akin to Doctore here, but all of you... you make me who I am.”

“No, Harry. We only provided you with lessons. Your actions alone make you who you are, and nothing else,” said Elaine, “No matter your feelings for the Commonwealth of Valicadia, know that we are very proud of the young man you have become.”

“Uh, Harry... how about a bit of an introduction? You have your men standing around, looking ready for battle.”

Harry grinned a little sheepishly.

“Doctore, may they be released for the day?”

Doctore glanced up at the balcony, where Batiatus was observing. The lanista gave a firm nod.

“Agreeable. The day's training is ended.”

“Quintus! Bring your wife down so I may properly introduce you,” Harry called.

Batiatus gave another nod, and disappeared into the villa.

“It's only right, the man has been gracious with my presence... gods, I still can't believe I've been here for a year.”

“It's quite strange, considering our correspondence was over several hours, a day at most,” said Justin, frowning, “Soon as Brynjolf called us on his mobile, I port keyed all of us back to Riften.”

“Justin... hold the explanation for now,” said Elaine, “Harry, why not give us a proper introduction?”

“Oh, of course.”

Harry gave another sheepish grin.

“First. Though Quintus owns the residence, he places the training in the hands of Oenomaus, or the Doctore. To his right, the present Champion of Capua, Spartacus. To his right, the previous Champion, Crixus. And... shit, where did Varro go?”

“I did not see him.”

“Ah... anyway, where was I...”

The introductions went on for several minutes, as Harry introduced the entire group of men he had instructed. Indeed, there was easily thirty men present, and Harry remembered each and every one of them.

Finally, Quintus and his wife joined them.

“Lastly, Quintus and his wife, Lucretia, who, without their hospitality... I would have been quite lost.”

“His stay has been... eventful,” said Batiatus, grasping Harry's forearm in the way of greeting.

“Eventful, both in the good and the bad. I will miss all of you... and I will never forget my time here.”

He collected himself once again.

“Now. Friends, brothers... I introduce my first, closest circle, all of which are my instructors. Those who have taught me all which I shared with you in one way or another. The dashing ginger man, is Mazhe, my best friend since I was six years old. Beside him, is Tommy. Justin was my tutor in most non-magical subjects... and the two men dressed in black uniforms, Brandon and Eric, who cover tactical and military training. Lastly, the elegant lady in robes, I present Guardian Elaine, probably one of the most important persons in my country.”

The scene was interrupted, as the gates to the square opened, and a pair of men entered.

“Apologies. I must attend business,” said Batiatus.

“We will not be leaving immediately,” said Elaine, “Our gateway will stay open as long as necessary.”

“Perhaps we might retire to the villa, then,” Lucretia offered.

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed.

“Lieutenant Commander McAllister, and First Lieutenant Gomrass, protect the gateway.”

“Ma'am.” Both S.O.U. members gave a sharp salute, and took up position on either side of the gateway.

“Spartacus. Crixus. Join me?”

“It would be a privilege,” Spartacus said.

“You honour me,” said Crixus, as the group began to cross the square.

“You both honoured me by assisting as I summoned the Eye of Magnus,” said Harry.

Elaine barely contained the gasp.

“How many participated in the ritual?”

“Five of us, madam guardian,” Harry answered, “Myself, Spartacus, Crixus, Pietros, and Varro.”

“And I quote, _'It was here that we see a great mage, schooled in magic beyond that of this world, assisted by a group of four mundane friends, cast a portal into the void, and draw forth the powerful magical artefact. It is unclear as to what hand moved them to purpose, but the artefact was simply buried beneath the cliffs on the southern coast of what would be Britain, where it remained for nearly a thousand years.'_ ”

Guardian Elaine was in shock.

“Part history, part prophecy. Another quote, from the same article reads: ' _Yet, it has equally foretold that it would be our undoing. For, a thousand years after its discovery, great and unfortunate things will befall us all. It is not written exactly what sort of misfortune will fall on our soil, but all indications bring only the worst, and perhaps the gravest of all, the end times themselves._ '”

“I... I simply acted. I knew immediately as soon as I saw the contents of Spartacus' dream, that... that our Orb... was the Eye of Magnus.”

“It was meant for you to know and for you to act. Harry, you do not know just how much you now mean to us all. Your hands fathered the Commonwealth. The wording and terms cannot be made any clearer. Each one of you that cast that ritual are revered and celebrated.”

“We are but slaves—“ Spartacus began, but Elaine waved him off.

“In the eyes of the Commonwealth, you are not.”

“This is so much to process,” said Harry, his head swimming, as they reached the corridor which led to the stairway up into the villa. Once again, he found his world being turned upside down.

“I just want to be Harry.”

“And the gods keep telling you otherwise,” said Mazhe, “Face it, you'll never be 'just Harry'. You're too famous for that.”

Harry let out an indignant squawk, feeling a hand squeeze his arse.

“Hey!”

The enlarged group settled themselves in the triclinium, and although the pair of gladiators at first remained standing, Elaine produced extra furniture with a gesture from her wand.

“Gratitude,” said Crixus, taking a seat on the conjured furniture. It easily matched the appointments already present.

“You have used magic frequently here,” said Justin. It was not a question.

“Gods, it still defies belief,” said Crixus, shaking his head.

“I'm sure Harry has taken precautions to be sure you don't accidentally discuss such things with people who don't already know about our world.”

“As soon as I revealed my gifts to the household—after a most unfortunate incident—I'll share a pensieve memory when time permits—I placed a secrecy charm on everyone. I've also placed secrecy charms on new gladiators when they joined the household—the two German brothers case in point. I've adhered to the law to the best of my knowledge and ability.”

“All that can be expected,” said Elaine, with an incline of the head.

“Care for some wine?” Lucretia offered.

“If I may instead?” Elaine counter-offered, again producing her wand. A simple wave produced a bountiful platter with bottles of wine and appropriate refreshments.

“Madam guardian knows just a little more about conjuration than I do,” said Harry, with a grin.

Just then, there was a noisy pop, and another man in white robes appeared nearby. His robes had crimson trim, but otherwise were identical to Guardian Elaine.

“Master Guardian,” said Harry, with a slight bow of the head.

“Elaine, we'd like permission to send a few Unspeakables through.”

“Granted.”

“They'll be elated,” said the man, “I think this is the shiniest new toy they've had since the incident in fifty-seven.”

“When we connected with Tamriel,” Elaine corrected. She thought for a moment. “It looks like the portal will be open for some time, then. Lady Batiatus, I hope you don't mind playing host to the Commonwealth for just a little while longer, the government will see you well compensated.”

“It would be an honour,” Lucretia answered.

Though Harry was still pissed at the Commonwealth, he couldn't help but smile.

“Looks like you guys won't be getting rid of me that quickly.”

“Guardian Devon. Contact the DMLE, have them send a few Aurors along. And send—“

“I require resupply of my potions stock. Healing potions—“ Harry began.

“Harry. Why don't we travel back to Riften, if only for a few hours?” Mazhe suggested.

“It would be no trouble to do so, a port key would work perfectly fine,” said Guardian Elaine.

“Good. Though I would like to know where Varro is.”

“Perhaps he lingers in your chest,” Spartacus suggested.

Harry shook his head and muttered to himself, before producing the item in question.

“You've put our gift to good use, I take it?” Justin questioned.

“Abused liberally, yes,” Harry agreed, as he placed it on the floor and restored it to its proper size. He pulled open the lid.

“Varro?”

“What has happened?” came the man's voice.

“I have been searching for you, only to find you've been locked in my chest. Is Pietros also with you?”

“He is.”

“How about the pair of you come out? I would introduce you to a few people.”

A few seconds later, both men climbed out of the chest, and Harry once again made quick introduction.

“It was the four of them, along with myself, who cast the ritual,” Harry went on to explain. “I will share a pensieve memory, once again when time permits. I should also note that, Pietros will be joining us permanently, since I'm his 'owner' here. I will sever ownership when we return to Skyrim for good.”

“Harry...”

“Do not tell me it cannot be done,” Harry snapped, his face darkening, “How many times did Arch-mage Aren visit the Commonwealth before he was murdered?”

“It is not the same thing,” Elaine argued.

“To hell it isn't,” Harry shot right back, “The decision was made long before you arrived. Beside the point, you have a lot of ass-kissing to do before I ever forgive the treachery you heaped on Tommy and I.”

He softened.

“Spartacus and Crixus are to fight in tomorrow's games, am I right?” At Lucretia's nod, he continued, “I would ask they join us for a few hours. I promise to have them back in the same condition they leave in.”

“Quintus—“

“Would likely object, I know. But he knows I would not willingly put any of his men in danger, and where we're going, it's to reconnect with a few important people, and resupply my chest. We will be back before sundown.”

“Harry...” Justin warned.

“Leave it.” Harry snatched an orange off of the conjured platter and pressed a finger to it. “ _Portus_.”

“Gods... not that again,” Pietros protested, while Harry collected his chest.

“It gets easier the more we do it. Come on guys, get a finger on it.”

“Wait.” Guardian Elaine produced her wand. “A translation charm, your friends will need it if you expect them to understand the common language.”

“Ah, right. But... you had to call in Unspeakables to do that,” Harry remembered.

“Not anymore. The four of you, if you'll hold still a moment. Your tongue and throat will feel funny for a minute or two,” Elaine explained. The four of them glanced to Harry.

“It's perfectly safe. She's more than trustworthy.”

“Very well done, Harry. You've taught them about the dangers of allowing a stranger to cast spells on them.”

“One of the first things I taught them.”

Guardian Elaine was more than proud of the young wizard, as she set out casting the proper charms on his new friends. It seemed like, this had been some sort of test for the boy, and by all indications, he had passed with flying colours. To teach thirty or more individuals—she had glanced at the four gladiators' memories as they all sat there—the wizard had taught them about combating a magical threat, taking advantage of the surroundings... non-magical combat strategies... good grief, the very things Brandon and Eric had taught Harry months before. He'd effectively put thirty gladiators through basic training.

“All right, boys, that should about do it. No more than a few hours, Harry.”

“You have my word. All right, guys, get a finger on it.” Harry again held out the port key.

Mazhe, Justin, and Tommy quickly did so, with Spartacus, Varro, and Crixus following. Pietros reluctantly followed suit.

“ _Activate_ ,” Harry commanded, and the group vanished in a blur.

“Good grief, has that boy ever changed,” said Elaine, staring at the spot Harry had been only a moment before. “Now, to business. We'll see to the first bit of compensation, as both you and your husband have the thanks of the Commonwealth for looking after our favoured son.”

“I admit, the young mage will be missed,” said Lucretia, as she led the imposing visitor to the business office. A pair of guards followed at a respectable distance, as did an Auror, dressed in the traditional crimson robes.

* * *

 

_Turdas, 3 Hearthfire, 4E201_

The large group landed in the cistern, just outside the Ragged Flagon. It took a minute before everyone regained their feet. The four gladiators all looked around in awe, knowing they now stood in a different world than their own.

“Mazhe, d'you mind visiting Elgrim's Elixers? The potions supply in the chest is bare. Likewise, Justin, I'll need you to take a port key back to Trevelyan. The standard potions stock. Include anti-Cruciatus potions, it's something I've neglected—“

“Harry.” Justin looked at his young friend with worry.

“Casting the ritual. I now know exactly what that curse feels like, as do these guys. It doesn't tickle.”

Mazhe only gave his friend a tight squeeze on the shoulder, before walking over to the pub, which took up the latter half of the cistern.

“I will return shortly,” said Justin. He produced something from his pocket, and vanished.

“Another port key,” Varro guessed.

“Exactly. He carries a few of them, just to make it easier.”

“Is travel by the other method possible?”

“From here back to Trevelyan? No. We're in truly a different world. Apparition would never work in that instance. A port key is the only way to pass between worlds. And even had we remained in our own, travelling from your time to mine—Gods, I still have no clue as to how that actually works.”

“Uh, ditto,” said Tommy, “until I met Harry, I thought time travel was bullshit.”

Harry could only grin. His old friend was in the same boat as his new ones.

“Come on, I have a bit of business with another friend.”

“Where are we?” Spartacus asked, as they began walking.

“Tamriel, or specifically, Skyrim. Though the Commonwealth of Valicadia adopted me, I grew up here. Though not in precisely this place... perhaps if I have the chance, I'll introduce you to the place I actually grew up in. For now—“

“Harry, glad to see you return safely.” A tall, gruff-looking Nord stood by the sign that marked the unofficial boundary of the pub.

“I return with spoils to the profit of the Guild,” Harry smirked. A gesture of the hand replaced his robes with his guild armour.

Harry found Tonilia seated at her usual spot, on a raised platform that suspended itself over the water.

“You return to us in good health,” she greeted.

“And I bring spoils,” Harry grinned, gesturing with a hand, and summoning a small box. He set it on the ground, and gestured again, restoring it to its original size. It was almost as tall as he was, roughly four by four feet wide and long.

“The kid is gone a matter of days, and he once again hauls in a king's ransom. Who pissed you off this time?” Vex questioned.

“Only the nastiest sort. Never mind the man, his wife was a right nasty little snake who I had great pleasure in opening her eyes to the ways of the world,” Harry smirked, removing the lid from the container.

This now had the attention of Delvin, as well as Vekel, who gathered around to see what Harry had 'collected' this time.

“This all came from Glaber's villa? Jupiter's cock, Harry!” Varro looked scandalous. “If word should ever reach his ears—“

“And whose tongue will spill the words for his ears to hear?” Harry gave a vicious smirk. “The price this will earn, I accept only a quarter of the profit. Let the rest be placed into the guild's coffers. I draw satisfaction knowing the guild earns profit from the transgressions of a pair of foolish individuals.”

Spartacus, meanwhile, carried a nasty smirk of his own, already aware of Harry's deed.

“Was Glaber the only target of your thievery?” Varro dared ask.

“He was. Though there were certainly a few people I had considered targeting, in the end it always came back to Ilithyia and her schemes. Everyone else was simply caught up in her web. Now that I have taken steps, she won't be causing further issues.”

“Simple robbery will never stop someone from scheming, Harry,” said Tommy.

“No, but visiting her bedchamber in the middle of the night and threatening to end her and her husband in every way possible, most certainly will. The snake had plots on top of plots, Tommy. By rights, she's a witch of the worst sort who deserves to be burned at the stake and put out of her misery.”

Spartacus outright laughed at the visual, while Varro looked rather uncomfortable. Being a roman man, and an honourable one at that, he was most uncomfortable at the suggestions his young friend was making.

Harry blew out a breath, calming himself.

“Gods, that woman drives me mental. It's a wonder she didn't slither into the room while we met a while ago.” He brightened. “Anyway. Friends, this is Varro, Spartacus, Crixus, and Pietros. They're new friends from the place I've been, uh, somewhat trapped in for the past while.”

“Is their presence temporary?” Tonilia asked, as she pulled another box out of the crate.

“Likely. Though Pietros will be staying with me permanently. Now... uh, guys,” said Harry, turning to his new friends, “My good friends, practically family... Tonilia, Vex, Delvin, Vekel, and the gruff man by the gate is Dierge. He's somewhat the bouncer around here—uh, security, I mean.”

“Ah. The meaning is now understood,” said Spartacus.

A door opened in the back, and seconds later, another individual joined the group.

“Good to see you back in one piece, lad.”

“Brynjolf. Thank you for alerting the others of my circumstance.”

“You're one of us, I would not have done any different had it been Mazhe—by the _Eight_...”

His eyes fell on the enormous crate Tonilia was busily unpacking, and he let out a chuckle.

“Another fool has felt the sting of your sticky fingers, it seems.”

“I cleaned out the moron's villa, so yeah, pretty much,” Harry smirked. “Any engravings and identifying marks have been removed, so everything should fetch a more than fair price.”

“The word 'moron', its meaning escapes me,” said Pietros. That got equal nods from the other gladiators.

“Asshole. Fool. Idiot. Stupid. Take your pick, it all means the same,” Tommy answered.

Harry only grinned, shaking his head.

“You lot have virgin ears, when it comes to modern language. Anyway. Vekel. I'll need to replenish my stock of your specials.”

“I should have a fresh batch ready tomorrow afternoon.”

“The games tomorrow,” Spartacus reminded him.

“Right. I'll likely not be able to come back for them until day after, then. Subtract the cost from the profit I earn from this latest heist.”

“Harry. You do not pay here,” said Vekel, firmly.

Harry huffed. “ _Normal_ people pay for their goods and services.”

“Harry,” said Tommy, “You'll never be normal.”

“Fuck off.” Harry said it with a smirk, though, all in good fun.

“In the meantime, how about you all have a seat and let me serve up a few bottles of mead?”

“Sounds good. Though I'll want to also visit with Remus shortly, let him know all is well.”

It was late afternoon before Mazhe returned, though he struggled with a large case. Harry was quick to help him with it, and produced his chest. Once inside, the potions cabinet was unlocked, and the shelves restocked.

“How much did it cost?”

“Nearly five thousand septims,” Mazhe answered. “I did cover it, but...”

Harry shrugged, and summoned his coin purse. “Gods, that's a lot of coin.”

“You lack the coin to cover your debt,” Pietros assumed.

Harry only shook his head. “No, I have more than enough coin to cover it, it's counting it out.”

“Allow me,” Mazhe offered.

“Gratitude.” Harry handed him the coin purse.

“You trust him?” Crixus asked. He'd parked himself on one of the couches, content to open another bottle of mead, while Mazhe placed the coin purse on the table and began pulling out coins.

“My circle, I trust without question. Just as much as I would now trust any of you... or Oenomaus.”

“You will find, Harry does not give out trust easily,” said Mazhe, “And for good reason.”

“He has told stories of his misfortune,” said Crixus.

“And he's probably also told you about the dangers of trust.”

“Covered recently, actually,” said Harry, “After the incident with Varro... or an incident just prior. Nasty set of circumstances, I almost left the villa for good after that.”

“Batiatus would sooner be parted from his cock, than to see Solonius profit from your presence, Harry,” said Varro.

“I spoke to the man. My immediate assessment, he's got much more integrity than Batiatus. The man knows his standing within the world, and remains happy with it. Or, well, perhaps not with his unending losing streak on the sands of the arena, but in other matters. The schemes of Batiatus border on frightening.”

“When we got your second letter, we immediately went back to Trevelyan—though I wasn't all that happy about the idea,” said Tommy, “It was full research mode, so we know somewhat about the House of Batiatus. I think I can safely say, they're in for a world of hurt in the near future, and it's got nothing to do with us.”

“I remember my history, Tommy. I know exactly what is coming. And before I forget.”

Harry reached into his rucksack, and pulled out a shoebox-sized package, then passed it to Spartacus.

“Dark times are ahead, for all of you, as Tommy says. When the time comes, you will find the contents of this box extremely helpful.”

“We are not allowed—“ Crixus began, but Harry held up a hand.

“Spartacus. Tap the box with a finger.”

Spartacus looked at Harry, confused, but did as asked. The box instantly vanished, though he felt the weight of something around his wrist.

“Some rather advanced transfiguration and charms work. Perhaps one of the last gifts I will be able to give you, but you'll find the things within useful for all of you. I have to protect my students in some way. Now, I should warn you, none of the contents will actually help you escape from Batiatus' grasp, but... there will come a time you will be free of him, and then, you will understand.”

“Is that part of the future you cannot break words about?” asked Crixus, reaching up to rub the back of his head.

“It is. And though I ask a lot, you and Spartacus have to work together, and set aside any differences. You've worked together for me. Now I ask you work together for the future. You are both the best gladiators in the ludus. Lead the others... together.”

Crixus eyed his rival critically. The past year had seen many changes. As much as he loathed the Thracian, he held the equal amount of love and respect for the young mage who had landed amongst them during his darkest days. It had been Harry's healing hands that had brought Crixus back from the brink of death, his spells that had ensured he would one day return to the arena—that day now just a sleep away.

“In another life, perhaps you and I would have been as brothers.”

“We share the brand, Crixus. I believe that makes it so in this one,” said Spartacus.

A smile tugged at the corners of Crixus' mouth, and he offered his arm. The pair of them grasped forearms, the acknowledgement of the truth.

“Let us leave past transgressions behind us, and begin anew.”

It took nearly a half hour for Mazhe to count out the right amount of coin. It was about that time, when Justin also returned, bringing with him a full potions stock.

“And how much did it cost?”

“The government covered the cost.”

Harry only gave a nasty smirk. “One instance where I don't mind someone else footing the bill. Anti-cruciatus potions included?”

“You're about as well-stocked as a small apothecary at this point, Harry. It's getting on four o'clock. Probably best if we get back to Batiatus' villa.”

“Not without seeing Remus. I did promise to be back by sundown. That's still a few hours away.”

The visit with Remus ended up taking the next few hours, even though for now, Harry kept his explanations brief. There would be ample opportunity for such things in the days to come. So it was, as the sun set, the group returned to the villa by port key, to once again land in Spartacus' expanded cell.

Stepping out into the square, they found that two different members of the S.O.U. now guarded the portal, while a team of mages and scientists, along with a number of Unspeakables conducted studies. Indeed, it was a shiny new toy to them.

“The Commonwealth has been busy,” Justin noted.

“And Batiatus won't be pleased. This is a distraction,” Harry muttered, “They'll have to put some kind of disillusionment charm on it before training begins in the morning. Not to mention, tomorrow is training for Numerius—“

“Not tomorrow, Harry. We go to the games,” Pietros reminded him.

“I guess we do. Uh, don't know how that's gonna work though. Only room in the Pulvinus for so many people.”

“Harry, the Commonwealth is taking this as a spectacular opportunity to study history. You'll find Quintus will be quite accommodating, as will a number of people here,” said Justin, “Remember, we have ways of obtaining the right outcome.”

Harry hid his scowl, moving to cross to the villa. His friends quickly made to follow. His mind was in another place. Now that he had his old circle back with him, there was no hurry in packing up. Though... there was the matter of Miraak.

“Mazhe... what happened with... I mean, we were about to...”

“Our mission at Nchardak. It was a scary thing when you didn't come back. We waited there in the reading room... until Brynjolf called us. Justin immediately made a port key that carried us back to the Ragged Flagon, and once we'd read the letters, it was another port key back to Trevelyan. They wanted to leave me behind—“

“He threatened painful curses if I continued to think along that line,” said Justin. They had reached the stairwell leading up into the villa. The four gladiators had followed behind, and as they attempted to follow, a guard roughly stood in the way.

“And where do you think you're going?”

“Excuse me!” Harry turned around, hearing the exchange. “Those four are with our party.”

“We'll have Guardian Elaine place an Auror there,” said Justin, as the guard scowled and stepped aside.

The villa seemed to be rather busy, with a number of ministry officials about. Batiatus and his wife were found in the triclinium, appearing to be in their element, as they entertained, Naevia and Mira attending as required. Harry did not mask a groan that escaped him, spotting Ilithyia amongst them. A small part of him wished for her to attempt one of her tricks, so that he could exact revenge. To say but not do, what was the fun in that?

“Harry. Welcome back,” said Guardian Elaine, rising to greet him. “It was a good afternoon?”

“Very much, my lady,” Harry answered, grinning. “Uh. I'm not sure if Quintus has mentioned it or not, but there are games tomorrow, and—“

“We're aware of your previous plans to attend. They are somewhat your students, as Quintus has been explaining,” Guardian Elaine answered.

“Which brings forward another thought. Whatever work the Arcane Sciences Division is conducting on the portal... unless they cast disillusionment charms and such, it will prove a dangerous distraction to the men training. Last thing we need is for someone to be injured due to such things.”

“That will be dealt with appropriately. Both disillusionment charms and proper barriers will be in place to protect both the Commonwealth's workers, and the men while they train.”

“The men are trained to work through distractions, but some things, such as this, would kill all productivity. Nothing would be learned.”

“Spoken as a true instructor,” said Brandon, wandering over.

Harry gave him a half-smile, and the exchange was not lost on Batiatus.

“I've taken my lessons to heart, and given the amount of time I've been here, I felt it more than appropriate that I share. I'm quite certain the House of Batiatus truly boasts the best-trained gladiators in the Republic—if not some of the best-trained period.”

Guardian Elaine shared a look with Brandon, knowing that would be a potential problem. Meanwhile, she gestured to the four gladiators. “Come. You're welcome to share in appetizers and wine.”

Lucretia hid a look of disdain, while Batiatus momentarily frowned. Sure, it was his house, but yet Harry and his countrymen seemed to run the show. They were amicable enough, but... their use of magic, and the way they seemed to be able to just... coax others to do as asked... it was disconcerting. And now to find out that their portal was some sort of fascination and would not be removed in the short term... that further irritated the man.

The evening grew late, and Guardian Elaine finally bid her farewells, and vanished via port key, along with a number of other officials from the department.

“It is rather late. We should turn in, Harry,” said Mazhe, “If there is to be a busy day tomorrow.”

“A fair assessment. Your rooms in my chest are still available... though—“

“We have our own beds to fall into,” said Spartacus.

At Justin's curious look, Harry explained, “The last while, they've been borrowing your beds.”

“Ah, of course.”

“If we overstep—“ said Varro.

“Think nothing of it.”

“Come on, guys, we descend back into the bowels of the ludus,” said Harry, in a sing-song voice, getting laughter from his old circle, and another barely-hidden scowl from Batiatus.

Trailing behind the others, Spartacus didn't see the truncheon which suddenly impeded his left foot as he made to descend the stone steps. A terrible shout, and a crash left him in a heap at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Spartacus!? Bloody hell.”

Harry was kneeling beside him in a split second, while Mazhe flung his hand at the wall, providing a bright light to properly illuminate the scene.

“Gods... he's out cold.” He glanced up at the entrance way at the top of the stairs, to see a shadow quickly vanish.

Justin calmly pulled out his mobile, and punched in a number. “Medical emergency... no... yes... stairwell to the villa... yeah, send Healer Ferris along.” He clipped the phone back to his belt.

“Get him laid out flat,” said Tommy, pushing in to be beside Harry.

“I know... just...” Harry drew his wand. “ _Petrificus Totalus_!”

The magic did its work, and Spartacus became a statue, with his arms and legs straight.

“Jupiter's cock, what now?!” Batiatus now stood at the top of the stairwell, staring down at the chaos.

“He fell down the stairwell. We've got it in hand, a healer is on her way,” Justin explained, “He'll be just fine.”

“He fell down the stairs, Justin!” Harry hissed, “If he's got a concussion, he won't be doing much of anything for the next while, you know that.”

There came a noisy pop from outside, and seconds later, a familiar healer in lime-green robes entered the scene.

“Mr. Potter. Good to see you again although regretfully under these circumstances,” she said.

She immediately assessed the scene.

“Good. You've immobilized him.” She drew her wand, and levitated the injured gladiator. “The infirmary here will likely be inadequate. Where does he sleep?”

“This way,” said Varro, at last daring to speak. “Gods, of all the misfortune that one might suffer...”

“At least the fall wasn't fatal,” said Tommy, “Jesus Christ, he could have died.”

“Could have, but didn't.”

“Gods, what has happened?” Doctore hurried to join the procession, as they crossed the square to Spartacus' cell.

“Fell down the stairwell. Alive, but knocked out by the fall.”

“Most unfortunate. Apologies, I must break words with Dominus.”

“He already knows,” said Harry, scowling, “Though he might want to have alternate plans in place for the Primus, just in case.”

“Your thoughts equal mine.” With that, Doctore hurried back across the square and into the ludus.

Healer Ferris, meanwhile, levitated Spartacus onto his bed, which was then quickly changed into something more appropriate. She reached into her kit, and pulled out a series of potions, before beginning a basic medical scan.

“Gods... cracked skull, fractured right forearm, twisted left ankle—“

“There are likely a number of older injuries, due to his, uh, profession,” Harry warned. Healer Ferris turned and gave him an icy look.

“Which one of us is the healer, Mr. Potter?”

“Oh. Uh, apologies.”

He made a sour face, then turned to Crixus.

“If he's unable to attend the games, I have no doubt you'll take his place. Are you ready?”

“I have long been ready, Harry. I long to return to the sand.”

“But not in this way.”

“No. I would regain the championship honestly.”

Healer Ferris, meanwhile, let out a sigh.

“Well, Mr. Potter, your fears are correct. At least a second-grade concussion. The injuries, I can easily fix, but he won't be doing much for the next week or so. I'll leave a proper supply of headache remedies, which he will certainly need, and I'll return in the morning to do a better assessment.”

“Gratitude.”

“And you, Mr. Potter, also have an appointment with me, so I can assess where you might be at these days—it's not negotiable,” she said, sharply, “Your closest friends are concerned.”

“Fine.”

“I know you still harbour anger toward the Commonwealth, but whether you want to accept it or not, there are a great many of us who care about you—not because of the symbol you have been made out to be by some, but because of who you are, and who you have become.”

Harry blew out a breath.

“I... I guess. Still, it's not right, what happened to Tommy. I... it's been a year since I, since we learned of the treachery. It'll be a long time still, before we forgive or forget.”

“And carrying such anger does no good for your soul,” said the healer, as she continued to work on Spartacus' injuries.

Tommy let out a snort. “Fuck off. Harry, d'you mind producing your chest, so I can disappear?”

“Sure.” Harry fished out his chest, and placed it against the wall before restoring it to proper size. Tommy wrenched open the lid, and quickly climbed in.

“Seems I might be setting up an appointment for him too.”

“You can't force him.”

“He needs to vent those angry feelings, Harry.”

“When he's ready.”

“Healer Ferris. Just checking in,” said an Auror, sticking his head in the doorway.

“Everything is fine. I'm just about done.” She waved her wand one more time just to be certain. “That should take care of his physical injuries. I'll return early in the morning to take a further assessment.”

“We leave for the games mid-morning.”

“No matter what my assessment, your friend here won't be participating in any sort of physical activity for at least the next two days. My orders. And that's likely to be adjusted. Expect him to be out of action for at least the next seven to ten days.”

“Great. Batiatus is going to just _love_ that prognosis,” Harry muttered. 'And whoever caused this will be crucified,' he thought. A pensieve memory would need to be drawn once he was awake. “Thank you for your prompt response and assistance, healer Ferris.”

“You know how to reach me. I'll see you all in the morning.” And with that, she left the cell.

“Right. Guys, let's get some sleep.”

Descending into the chest, Harry quickly realized there would be a small problem with the accommodations. Pietros had taken to using Mazhe's room, but that would no longer be suitable. He didn't seem at all upset by the idea.

“I will happily occupy a couch until alternate accommodations are provided,” said the young man.

“Uh, no you won't,” said Mazhe, “You're quite welcome to continue to use my bed, since I won't be using it.”

He cast an eye toward Harry, who looked confused. Tommy, meanwhile, smirked, knowing full-well where Mazhe was going.

“What?” Harry asked, the interaction lost on him.

“Gods, you can be so daft at times,” said Mazhe, shaking his head, “How did you greet me this afternoon?”

“Oh. Well...”

He shuffled back and forth, as the memory hit full-force.

“I, uh, my body moved absent thought. I didn't mean to put you on the spot—“

“Harry, your actions betray your words,” said Pietros.

“At least he's over the crush he had on Tommy,” Justin grinned.

“Fuck off,” Harry scowled, but was again surprised as Mazhe seized him about the waist, and proceeded to reciprocate the scorching snogging session they'd engaged in upon meeting earlier that afternoon. And Harry once again felt the raging desire and longing he'd felt earlier. Mazhe might be five—scratch that, four years older, but really... they had been practically joined at the hip since they'd first met.

As they finally came up for air, Mazhe smirked, and said, “I'll be sleeping with Harry from now on.”

“I... gods...” Harry was still out of sorts from the interaction, and quite honestly, he didn't know how to proceed.

“This is new territory for the both of us,” said Mazhe, “But I think we can both agree, we're on the same page. Now that you're old enough...”

Harry slowly nodded, still somewhat in a daze, as they made for his room. The idea was completely foreign to him: the thought of another being, another person, sharing a bed with him. Well, at least a normal bed. Oh sure, there had been a number of occasions the pair of them had been jammed together on the same mat, bundled up to keep warm, warming charms being nearly useless in the sub-zero cold Skyrim could throw at them. That didn't quite count, since it was out of necessity and self-preservation.

That night brought comfort above and beyond what the young wizard had experienced up to this point, and now he knew: his best friend had become his first love. As to whether Mazhe would be Harry's last and only love, that remained to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry and his old circle attend games at the arena, and there, Numerius and his mother get some unsettling news; Spartacus gets another check-up from Healer Ferris... and Mazhe has a final showdown with Miraak... resulting in at least one rather unusual ally._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So, Harry's finally found love. I should note, their relationship won't have a lot of 'screen time', since I prefer not to focus much on intimate relationships and so on. It'll come up sometimes, but infrequently, since this story is more action-driven._   
> _Now that Harry's reconnected with the Commonwealth (at least in a small way), things will somewhat get back to normal. For the next little while, the two worlds will interact (the Commonwealth would be very interested in the portal, given this would be only the second time that such a connection has formed)_


	29. At the Summit of Apocrypha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry and his old circle attend games at the arena, and there, Numerius and his mother get some unsettling news; Spartacus gets another check-up from Healer Ferris... and Mazhe has a final showdown with Miraak... resulting in at least one rather unusual ally._

**29: AT THE SUMMIT OF APOCRYPHA**

**4 Hearthfire, 4E201 - / Unknown Dates 73 BCE**

* * *

Breakfast that following morning had Harry in better spirits than in quite some time. Both Justin and Tommy easily noticed the brighter demeanour, as they ate. Justin internally shivered at the consequences that would come of the union. Harry was already a powerful mage; having his spirit elevated by the love of another, would only amplify his power.

The musings were interrupted, as Brandon stuck his head in.

“Healer Ferris is here,” he announced. That earned a scowl from Harry.

“We're just finishing up,” said Justin, “We'll be up momentarily.”

“You been keeping up with your morning training regimen?” Tommy asked.

“Not recently,” Harry answered, “Lot of nonsense going on over the past month or so that's sent my regular schedule out the window. I would welcome a return to routine with familiar faces.”

“Gods... only now I notice, even your way of speaking has changed some,” said Mazhe.

“The result of exposure, Mazhe,” said Justin, “Given time, a person will pick up anothers' speech patterns and such. Loads of studies that cover human speech patterns, right?”

“Their way of speaking... it's much more elegant... though a bit wordy. Took some time to get used to, on top of the translation charm,” said Harry, as he vanished his plate to the sink. “Let's get outside and break words with Healer Ferris.”

Climbing out of the chest, they found healer Ferris attending to Spartacus, who was then very much awake.

“Good morning,” Justin greeted.

“Dr. Fraser, Harry, a good day to the pair of you,” said the healer, pausing in her examination of her patient.

“How are you?” Harry asked, turning his attention to his new friend.

“I have felt far worse, Harry,” Spartacus answered.

“Know that you are in capable hands, healer Ferris has attended us all for the past two years. She will have you back on your feet far faster than I ever could.”

“Though not soon enough. I am unable to stand without—“

“Which is why you need to do exactly what healer Ferris asks. Not doing so could make things much worse,” said Justin, “You have a concussion—a brain injury.”

He glanced at healer Ferris, who nodded in agreement.

“Which is why I have said, limit your activity—no training for the next seven days, after which we will reevaluate your condition.”

“Batiatus—“

“Don't worry about Batiatus. If he puts any value in your worth, he will heed the Commonwealth's advice,” said Harry.

He thought for a moment.

“I have a strong suspicion that your fall last night may not have been by accident. I would see your memory up to your fall—“

“I think I'd better have a quick look at his mind first, to be sure there's no significant damage. You're more than adept at legilimency, Harry, but dealing with someone who's suffered a brain injury, you risk doing damage, or worse, becoming trapped in the person's head.”

Harry arched an eyebrow. This was new information to him, and he mentally shivered at the thought.

“Perhaps, then, I would leave this to your hands.”

“Very well.” Healer Ferris drew her wand again.

“Is there anything I am required to do?” Spartacus asked.

“Just relax,” said Harry, “Exactly like during our morning exercises, unless healer Ferris asks otherwise.”

“If you are ready?”

Spartacus gave a nod, and healer Ferris pointed her wand at his temple. “ _Legilimens_.”

It was several minutes before she cancelled the spell.

“The mental damage from the fall was, luckily, very minor. I was able to reconstruct the memory of the minutes leading up to the incident. Do you have your pensieve, Harry?”

“I'll fetch it,” Justin offered.

Healer Ferris, meanwhile, pulled out her mobile, and pressed several buttons. “Healer Ferris here... yes... yes, somewhat. Very likely. The reason for my call. I'll be tied up here for the next while... no... no, he's fine, I'm dealing with another patient... fall damage and a concussion... That's the plan. I'll update the case files tonight.”

She disconnected, and put the mobile back in her satchel.

“Now that my calendar has been cleared for the next while, I'll be having a chat with all of you at one point or other.”

She gave both Harry and Tommy a pointed look. Harry only rolled his eyes, and was saved by Justin reappearing from the chest, bringing the pensieve. Healer Ferris placed her wand to her temple, and drew the appropriate memory, and dropped it into the shimmering bowl. A bunch of fingers reached out to touch the liquid, including the victim.

Healer Ferris stopped the memory at the point of interest, a long black object extending just as Spartacus reached the top of the stairs. The man in question found it fascinating that he was by no means limited inside the memory, and was able to keep up with the others, as they climbed the stairs.

Harry was not surprised to find a guard had been behind the attack. He got a good look at the man, and exited the memory.

They found Crixus had entered the cell, though a crimson-robed Auror now also stood just inside the door, unsure of whether the gladiator's presence was appropriate.

“It's fine,” said Harry, with a scowl, “The men are free to come and go, I would trust all of them.”

The Auror only gave a nod, and stepped back outside.

“My brother,” Crixus greeted.

“I am in good hands,” said Spartacus, “And in better spirits, knowing the one responsible will soon face Batiatus' wrath.”

“Your fall was not an accident?”

“Confirmed by memory.” Spartacus indicated the shimmering bowl.

“By whose hand?”

“A guard. I will be joining your master when he breaks words with the person responsible, if only to remind him the man nearly cost him his top product. As it stands, it's cost him today's event.”

“Such as the news has reached my ears. Opportunity presents, and I return to the games,” said Crixus, “Though with heavy heart in that my brother does not join.”

“I will yet join you on the sands, Crixus.”

“Get well, brother.”

Harry had to smile, seeing the two former rivals speaking kindly. There was blazing respect for one another, make no mistake. Perhaps, now, it would bloom into a strong friendship.

“Right,” he said, refocusing on the issue ahead, “Spartacus. Your assignment in the meantime. Continue your mental exercises as we normally do.”

“A wise idea,” Healer Ferris agreed, “It will help the mind heal, and allow the potions to do their job.”

“Meanwhile, the rest of us...” Harry glanced out the door to the cell, and noticed the rest of the men were making their way out into the square. “We'd better make an appearance, lest I be accused of being late.”

Harry led his circle to the edge of the cliff, where they lined up, and waited for the rest of the gladiators to gather in front of them. Harry mentally frowned, seeing both Brandon and Eric join at the back. He would say nothing for now, deciding to treat them exactly as he treated Ilithyia.

“Right. Good morning, everyone. Since my instructor for the morning mental exercises is present, I will defer the lesson to his capable hands. Tommy...”

“Uh. Right.”

Tommy looked somewhat surprised that Harry would do so, given Harry had been responsible for teaching the group, but he also understood. It meant normalcy, to be the student again, rather than the teacher.

“Okay. Let's see how well my, uh, student has done. Get seated and comfortable.”

He did so himself, watching as the rest of the group did so, some a little quicker than others. It wasn't precision, but it was done relatively quickly, and without question or complaint.

“Now. Let's begin...”

Once the lesson was over, Tommy turned things over to Harry, who in turn handed things over to Doctore. With the men in capable hands, Harry and his circle made a quick track to the villa for a word with Batiatus. They found him in the office.

“Quintus, if I could have a word.”

Batiatus gave a wave of ascent.

“We've discovered the person responsible for Spartacus' accident last night. I would show you a memory of the individual, since I do not recognize his face.”

“Then present your evidence so I may see this matter concluded.”

“Indeed,” said Harry, reaching into his rucksack, and producing his pensieve. After removing the cover, revealing the shimmering liquid, he then placed his wand at his temple, and drew out his recollection of events, or, the relevant portion.

“You only need to stick a finger into the bowl, and find yourself in my shoes as the one responsible is revealed,” Harry explained. Batiatus did as instructed, and froze in place.

He unfroze only a few seconds later.

“Summon Darcos,” he addressed a guard, and turned back to Harry, fuming. “I would see the words spilled from his fucking mouth while under the same concoction used on Segovax.”

“Veritaserum,” said Harry. “It will be my pleasure.”

“Harry...” said Justin, uncomfortably, while one of the guards left for another part of the house to track down the man being summoned.

“What?!” Harry snapped, “The man nearly caused Spartacus' death—someone I consider a close friend—never mind the fact that he is the top billing in the ludus. As it stands... a substitute is having to be made, something that could in itself prove costly. What, you think that I have done little in the year I have spent under this roof? I have had my eyes opened to many things, matters of finance being included.”

He sucked in a breath and blew it out.

“I will compensate the cost of the guard.”

“For what reason? The man's actions fall far from your responsibility.”

“Had we not been up in the villa as we had been, the opportunity would not have presented itself.”

“Harry, you're talking bullshit,” said Tommy, “The man had a chance to pull some shit, and so he did. If not last night, then it could have happened elsewhere, right? Different circumstances, and maybe with a worse outcome.”

“I guess.”

Mazhe rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. “You know he's right.”

“Right.” He schooled his features. “I'd ask a favour though.”

“Speak, and see it done,” said Batiatus.

“If his punishment is particularly violent, I would ask it be done out of view of those from the Commonwealth. They have an idea of the sort of thing that happens here, but I'd rather they not be privy to actually witnessing it.”

“Harry...” Justin frowned.

“Last thing I need is for the Commonwealth to drag me back through the portal.”

“Not likely,” said Justin, “This is your show, not ours.”

“Right. So Guardian Elaine will just leave everything be, even if the punishment is a crucifixion.”

Justin arched an eyebrow. “How many have you seen?”

“Just one.”

“Gods...”

“It was appropriate given the condemned fool's actions. Though I think the Cruciatus curse is still far worse. Being parted from one's cock though...”

Justin felt his own testicles want to shrink back inside his body at the nasty visual.

“Just know that there are very few people I would ever wish that sort of punishment on—“ Harry fell silent, seeing the guard in question being led in.

“Darcos, good of you to join us,” said Batiatus, pleasantly. Harry simply thrust a hand at the man.

“ _Stupefy_.”

While Mazhe and Tommy laid the stunned guard out, Harry again produced the vial of Veritaserum, and pulled the cork. Mazhe pried the man's mouth open, and Harry allowed three drops of the potion to fall into his mouth. He then waited a minute or so, before reviving him.

“What is your name?”

“Titus Darcos.”

“How long have you worked for house Batiatus?”

“Three... three years.”

Harry glanced up at the lanista, and got a nod.

“Good, the potion's working.”

He turned back to Darcos.

“Were you working up here in the villa last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you, last night, use your truncheon to trip Spartacus as he entered the stairwell to return to the ludus?”

“...yes.”

“Whose words moved you to purpose?” Batiatus demanded.

“Ilithyia.”

Harry's nostrils flared, as white-hot anger again licked his insides. The woman dared, precisely when ordered not to.

“When?”

“It was some time ago. I... I do not remember,” Darcos answered.

Harry still fumed. It would be no good to repeat the question. Veritaserum absolutely forced the drinker to tell the truth... there was no grey area. If the man said he didn't know... he didn't know. Still... he would once again have to break words with the blonde snake, to determine when she put the plot in motion. Gods help her if it turned out to be a recent plot. He sucked in another breath, before producing the antidote.

“Quintus... I leave him to your hands. Though I would certainly be willing to carry out my own form of justice,” Harry said, viciously, “Personally, I could grant him a fate worse than death: an afterlife that brings only a nightmare of an existence.”

“Harry...”

“The god of forbidden knowledge was pleased by my last offering.”

Justin looked about to be ill, while Mazhe carried a look of shock.

“You... you didn't.”

“Spartacus, Crixus, and about a half dozen of the men bore witness.”

“I turn him over to you, then. See it done,” said Batiatus, simply, turning to the condemned man, “I paid for your sword, Darcos, not for you to fuck my slaves and shit in my house.”

“See him clapped in irons and locked in the holding cell for now,” said Harry, “I will see to the matter tonight, when the square is absent activity.”

Batiatus gave a gesture of assent to the pair of guards that had come up from below, and they led the condemned man away.

“Now that that nasty business is concluded. We have some preparations before we depart for the games.”

“Harry...” Justin said, scowling.

“Drop it. The matter is concluded.”

“The Commonwealth—“

“Can piss off,” Harry hissed. “Darcos violated the trust between employer and employee. He attacked his employer's product. Who knows what other targets he could have been assigned? A threat to my friends... I take that very seriously. Either that, or I end up dead. I only need to look at what Dumbledore did to me two years ago—I mean, last fall, going by your timeline.”

“You have to see why we're concerned,” said Mazhe, “Gods... Hermaeus Mora... you summoned him here?”

“Now that I know how to turn the black books into a weapon. I simply convinced the individual to open ' _Waking Dreams_ '. He did, and... know that his death was unpleasant.”

“Careful, lest you become trapped there as well.”

“I keep that in mind. But remember, I also have my own agenda. He's offered a way for me to deal with my own destiny, a path I am quite willing to take, if it brings with it the safety of our world.”

* * *

The middle of the morning saw a rather large entourage depart from the villa, destined for the arena. Harry had nearly not gone, wanting to instead remain behind, but more than a few people objected, and so he again found himself in the Pulvinus, acting as a sort of host between several parties. Numerius was there, as was Domitia, his mother. Notably absent up to this point, was her husband, an empty chair being reserved should he arrive.

The day passed, with numerous fights of little consequence—the men provided by a ludus in Pompeii proved to be little challenge for Batiatus' better-trained men. Batiatus was only too happy to mock the opposing city's offering, at the expense of the visiting Magistrate.

He finally remarked, “These early skirmishes count for nothing. It is the Primus that decides the victor. Absent your man Spartacus, Capua shall once again find itself in Pompeii's shadow.”

“Perhaps Crixus shall bring light to the matter,” said Lucretia, covering up a frown. She dabbed at her forehead, to wipe away the sweat on her brow.

“Crixus, yes. The crowd will be amazed... that the Gaul is still alive,” said the visiting Magistrate, disdainfully, while Lucretia signalled Naevia for more wine.

“Uh, I'm sure you'll find he is more than alive, Magistrate,” said Harry, not hiding the frown at the slight against his friend, “He has recovered very nicely from his battle against Theokoles.”

“That he survived at all is impressive. No gladiator from Pompeii ever lived against Theokoles.”

Batiatus chuckled. “Young Numerius cuts to the truth.”

“A talent inherited from his father.” The visiting Magistrate indicated the empty seat. “Does good Calavius intend to grace us with his presence? The day grows short.”

Domitia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but forced a smile. “Critical matters of trade with Picentia. He must have been delayed on his return.”

“If madam Calavius wishes, we could send a pair of our own guard to locate him,” Guardian Elaine offered.

Domitia began to answer, but Batiatus cut in, “I am certain he will turn up presently.”

By nightfall, the Magistrate had still not arrived, and with the crowd threatening a full-blown revolt, it was decided they could wait no longer. Domitia suggested that Batiatus present the Primus in her husband's stead. The lanista was only happy to oblige.

Harry really felt for Crixus, as he was introduced. The crowd had wanted Spartacus. They reacted by booing and jeering at the former champion as he took the sand. The opponent, meanwhile, turned out to be a tower of a man in dark armour. Rather than allow the crowd to get any more unruly than they already were, Batiatus began the match.

Harry realized right from the start, it was a poor match up. Pericles, the gladiator from Pompeii, was somewhat larger than Crixus. Though they had certainly covered that sort of thing during training, it was still an entirely different thing to face such a scenario for real.

Crixus immediately attacked, driving the larger man back, but Pericles countered almost immediately, using the size to his advantage.

“Gods. Healer Ferris will be busy tonight,” said Mazhe.

“If he survives,” said Justin, as they watched Pericles land another terrible blow, which knocked Crixus' helmet off. He lay on the ground, momentarily dazed, while the larger gladiator posed and postured for the crowd, strutting like a peacock.

“Another year, another 'favoured son' of Capua gone to grass,” the visiting Magistrate laughed.

“Uh, you speak too soon, friend,” said Mazhe, indicating the combatants.

“Formalities of blood,” said the Magistrate, “Your man is finished.”

“Crixus has the heart of a lion,” said Lucretia, defiantly, rising from her chair, “He yet rises—“

She staggered, and nearly collapsed, if not for the quick action of her husband and an Auror.

“Lucretia!” Batiatus was alarmed. “Water.” He indicated to Naevia, who was already at her mistress' side.

“Your wife does not fare well at the sight of your man about to be slaughtered,” the visiting Magistrate mocked.

Batiatus threw the man a withering glare, then took the goblet of water from Naevia, and pressed it to his wife's lips. Lucretia took a sip, and slowly regained her sense.

“Apologies. The heat—“

Batiatus gestured to Naevia. “See her back to the villa.”

“If you'll allow me, I can get her back to your villa much faster, and into the care of our healer.”

“I do not require a medicus,” Lucretia complained.

“You collapsed from the heat. Or it could be something else,” said Justin, “Better safe than sorry, am I right?”

“Very well. Come, Naevia.” Naevia followed Lucretia, as they were escorted from the Pulvinus.

“Gratitude,” said Batiatus, turning back to the action on the arena floor. The momentum had shifted with Crixus regaining his feet, as though coming back from the dead. The crowd was chanting his name again, and he drew on the energy of it, unleashing a relentless, powerful attack on the larger man.

It came to an end less than a minute later, with Crixus landing a fatal slice to Pericles' midsection. He dropped to his knees, before finally collapsing to the sand. Crixus finished him off by crushing his skull under his boot. He glanced up to the Pulvinus with a broad smile that quickly faded. Something he saw displeased him.

Batiatus, meanwhile, rose. “Crixus! Returned to form as promised!”

“Your prayers have been answered,” Numerius mocked, “The match was overly brief.”

“Numerius,” Harry somewhat scolded, rolling his eyes. Batiatus could only laugh, as the Magistrate rose from his seat, a scowl on his face.

“Good fortune to Capua, and all its deserving citizens.”

“Come. Linger a moment! Let us have drink and relive the glorious—“

They were interrupted by a messenger, escorted by a black-clad guard.

“Dominus,” he said, simply, passing over a scroll, before departing back the way he came, as Batiatus opened the scroll.

“What news is so urgent it interrupts the gloating of good Batiatus?” questioned the Magistrate.

Batiatus, meanwhile, tensed as he read the message.

“The Magistrate's caravan has been discovered at the edge of town. His guards murdered.”

A look of panic crossed Domitia's face. “No.”

“What of my father?” Numerius was equally panicked.

“He was not among them. Yet there were tracks, leading into the city.”

“Back to Capua?” questioned Domitia, “Why would anyone commit such treachery?”

“Ransom... or simple mischief on such a day.”

Batiatus cast an accusatory glance toward the visiting Magistrate. The man was pissed at such an accusation.

“You overstep, lanista.”

He turned to Domitia.

“This burden saddens me. If I may be of any assistance...”

“This matter is of Capua,” said Batiatus.

Domitia took a second before responding, deciding to side with Batiatus on this.

“Gratitude. We shall see it handled.”

The visiting Magistrate gave a bow, and exited the Pulvinus with his entourage.

“Harry, we—“

“Can't be here. This is not a matter we can lend any assistance with,” said Justin, “As much as we might want to. We should get going.”

“We will see to Crixus and his brethren first.”

It was only a short time later before a rather large group of people reappeared in the square. More than a few of the men were nursing nasty injuries. The medicus would be rather busy for the next while, considering healer Ferris was likely still tied up with Lucretia.

Harry and his circle moved quickly, only sending the most seriously injured to the infirmary. The others were more easily seen to by either Justin, Mazhe, or Harry. It did once again consume potions from Harry's supply, but now with a proper connection back where he belonged, it wasn't a big issue. Replacements could easily be made or obtained.

It was sometime later before Batiatus returned, looking very pleased. His little scheme had clearly worked. Harry didn't bother to intrude; it was not his place. Of course, he still didn't understand what the murder of the Magistrate would actually get him—other than an execution if his plot were revealed. That sort of thing was most definitely frowned on, even then.

It was significantly later before Harry at last turned to the condemned man still clapped in irons in the holding cell. Mazhe had insisted on being present, since he too now had a connection to Hermaeus Mora—and to perhaps see for himself, how the book was used. He was very unsettled as the scene unfolded, with the daedric prince acknowledging both of his followers before taking the condemned man's soul. Neither of them slept well that night, even having each others' comfort.

* * *

The following morning, once the circle's regular routine had been completed, Mazhe said, “We have to get back to our business in Solstheim. Though it's been a year for you, it's been only a day or so for me. We promised Frea and her father we would help, right?”

“It was our agreement, yes.”

“I'll stick around here,” said Justin, “I have a few ideas I'd like to explore involving the portal—all of them could be beneficial to us even in Skyrim. If you need me though—“

“I think between the three of us we can manage. Storn wants us to release the other standing stones from some sort of enchantment Miraak has put on them.”

“Like the stone not far from their village,” Harry remembered.

“There are four others. Frea marked each of them on my map. I would suggest we fly there.”

“Then let us see it done,” said Harry, snatching a stone from the ground.

“Take us to Raven Rock, there's a stone just south of the settlement.”

“I remember. “ _Portus_.”

Harry, Mazhe, and Tommy landed just south of the settlement, and the trio made for the standing stone just a short distance away. Neloth was once again observing the strange behaviour, as a number of people were compelled to work on the stone structure being built around it.

“ _Here in his shrine_ ,” intoned one.

“ _That they have forgotten_ ,” spoke another, who was hammering at a block of stone. The chant was identical to that being used at Miraak's temple.

“Ready?” Mazhe asked. Both Harry and Tommy gave a nod.

“ _Gol... HAH_!”

The ground momentarily shook, as the shock wave raced across it to impact with the glowing standing stone. The partially-built arches began to glow an orange shade, with cracks beginning to form. And then...

BOOM. The construction was shattered into dust, with a torrent of wind going in all directions. Everyone was forced to duck and shield their eyes from the backlash.

If they thought it was over, though, it was a mistake, as a monster rose up out of the shallow pool that surrounded the stone. It looked like a giant amphibious humanoid, with enormous hands and scaly armour. To Harry, it looked like the love child of a gecko and a dragon: an abomination. It let out a terrible roar, and seemed to vomit some sort of acid-green fluid. Everyone knew to avoid the fluid, as it was likely deadly.

Unfortunately for the creature, there were more than a few individuals present with rather imposing magical abilities. Within seconds, the threat was rendered a pile of ash, and Harry could only smirk, seeing the satisfied faces on the number of dark elves present.

The remainder of the day was spent flying to the other three standing stones. Each of them had a similar monster guarding it, though the people being forced to work on it varied. The strangest was the encounter of goblin-like creatures at a stone southwest of the Skaal village. They were a blue shade and spoke a strange language, and though Harry knew his translation charm would eventually work, they didn't stick around long enough to see it so.

The worst surprise came from the final standing stone, on the western side of the island. It not only had a dragon cultist observing the work, but as soon as the stone had been cleared of the threats, a dragon decided to make an appearance. The final fight left the trio spent (though absorbing the dragon's soul left Mazhe with somewhat of a mental high), and with the sun beginning to set, they used a port key to return to the villa. They would notify Storn of their progress in the morning.

Spartacus was not in his cell, but a venture to the common area found him sitting with Pietros and Justin, as well as a few others from the Commonwealth. Varro and Crixus also sat nearby, engaged in friendly conversation.

“Gods, the pair of you look of death,” Spartacus commented, noting Harry and Mazhe's appearance. Both of them were covered in dust from head to toe, with splatterings of blood being intermixed.

“We have battled terrible things today,” Harry answered, “Things the lot of you are better left absent the knowledge of.”

“Surely the terrors you face cannot eclipse what we face on the sands of the arena,” Duro challenged.

“ _Meyrot, kendov(1)_. One thing that I'm sure each and every one of you have learned here... there is always something worse. Something more terrifying. Suffering, madness, violence, all of those things know no end,” said Harry, a dark look crossing his face.

A look of confusion crossed Duro's face. “What kind of words are they?”

“What, you think lies spill from my—“

“Harry. I think you speaking the dragon language confused him,” said Mazhe, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Oh. Uh...”

“You haven't been speaking it at all since you got here.” It wasn't a question. “Why not?”

“I think he was being careful,” Justin assumed.

Harry gave a nod. “They've been exposed to enough of our shit as it is, to add the language of a different species...” He let out a sigh. “So much for that.”

* * *

The following morning came all too quickly, though Harry got much more rest than the previous night. He once again had Tommy run the morning mental exercises, and as soon as they were concluded, Harry and his circle again returned to Solstheim. They arrived back in the Skaal village a little early, and ended up having to wait an hour before the shaman at last appeared.

“You have returned, and bring company,” said Storn, noting Mazhe's companions.

“My closest circle of friends, yes,” Mazhe answered, “This is Harry, Justin, and Tommy.”

He reached into his satchel, and pulled out the black book they had retrieved from Nchardak.

“We have cleansed the standing stones on the island. Are you now able to speak with Hermaeus Mora?”

“I do not know if I have the strength to face him. The _Tree Stone_ is still corrupted... the land is still out of balance. But with the other five restored... it may be enough. It will have to do.”

“I wish you good luck, uh, sir,” said Mazhe, holding out the heavy tome.

At this point he still had no idea what Hermeus Mora would actually do to the man. Storn accepted the object with some trepidation.

“Thank you. I am trusting you will make this sacrifice worthwhile.”

“Father, you must not do this. That book is... wrong. Evil. Against everything that you have taught me my whole life.” Frea had come up beside her father, a look of worry on her face.

Storn turned to face his daughter, a look of resolve on his face. “I must, Frea. It is the only way to free Solstheim forever from Miraak's shadow. There comes a time when everything must change. Nothing that lives remains the same forever. Do not fear for me, my daughter. This is the destiny that the All-Maker has laid out for me.”

“I stand beside you, father, as always.”

“I am ready for whatever the foul master of this book has in store for me,” Storn declared, and he opened the heavy tome.

A number of dark tentacles exploded out of the book, lifting Storn off the ground. At the same time, a number of dark clouds materialized, with their thousands of blinking eyes.

“At last, the _Skaal_ yield up their secrets to _me_!” Hermaeus Mora hissed, his voice not the sticky, syrupy one they'd heard up to this point, but a dark, menacing, growl. Now, Harry knew the true face of the Daedric prince, as the shaman fought to resist the painful probe that tore through his mind.

The eyes, meanwhile, focused again on Mazhe.

“Dragonborn, you have delivered me the gift I requested. In return, I keep my promise, as befits a Prince of Oblivion: I give you the _Word of Power_ that you need to challenge Miraak.”

Mazhe felt a surge of magical energy penetrate him, much like when he'd come into contact with a word wall, and along with it, came a single word: _Dov_.

“Dov”, Mazhe whispered.

“Dragon,” Harry translated.

They eyes flicked momentarily to Harry, then back to Mazhe.

“You will be either a worthy opponent or his successor, as the tides of fate decree.”

Storn let out one final cry, and collapsed, as the tentacles vanished, along with the cloud of eyes. The man was dead.

“Father! What have you done!” Frea dropped to her knees, her eyes wide with shock.

Mazhe was equally shocked and horrified.

“I... I... I'm sorry! I didn't... we couldn't know—Gods, what have I done?!”

“Mazhe... don't blame yourself, you couldn't have known,” said Harry, softly.

“Focus,” said Tommy, “You have a job to do, right?”

“I...”

“Mazhe... he's right. We shall mourn for him later,” said Harry, reaching down to collect the book. He snapped it closed and shoved it roughly into his rucksack.

Frea looked up, her eyes glassy. “Go. My father sacrificed himself so that you could destroy Miraak and lift his master's shadow from the land. Go, then. Kill Miraak. Do not fail.”

Mazhe seemed to stand still a moment, concentrating on something. A red aura flared around him a moment, then vanished.

“Right. Harry, if you would produce your chest. Tommy and Justin, I would have the pair of you wait inside while we travel to Apocrypha. And... Frea, if you wish, we would have you also join us.”

“Your offer is appreciated, but for now, my place is with my father,” Frea answered, as Harry produced his chest and made it accessible. Justin and Tommy quickly climbed in, and just as swiftly, Harry again collected it.

“Ready?”

“Let us see it done,” Harry answered, as Mazhe produced the second black book he possessed, “Waking Dreams”. They linked arms, while Mazhe opened it. A single dark tentacle snaked out of the book to wrap itself around the pair of them.

As soon as they touched ground, Harry again produced his chest, to let his two friends out. Given past experience with the plane of Oblivion, it was an advantage to have extra eyes on things. Still, it was no cake walk as they traversed the chambers, corridors, and catwalks of the acid-painted world.

The seekers were particularly painful, though Harry was quick to summon one of his own to level the playing field. On another level, it might have been amusing, to see the pair of abominations going at one another. Instead, with the conjured seeker providing a distraction, the others pumped spells and bullets into the enemy. It worked beautifully.

They approached the lurkers in a similar manner, though the conjured seeker didn't last all that long against the stronger enemy. Still, concentrated firepower put them the monster to grass without anyone getting seriously hurt.

They finally arrived at the upper part of a large, circular chamber, something they'd traversed several times already. There, they found four empty pedestals, each one having a glowing picture on them. One featured a mass of tentacles, the second featured pincers, something like a lobster, the third featured an eye, while the last featured fangs. There was a column at the centre of the room, accessed by four catwalks.

“Shit. Dead end,” Justin muttered.

“Uh, no, I don't think so. We're missing something,” said Tommy, “What if...”

“Books,” Harry finished, “The pedestals need books. Something that reflects the picture on each pedestal.”

“Some of the books we've picked up... they unlocked gates, right?” Justin thought, aloud. “What if they also unlock the door here?”

“Good thinking.”

Harry pulled out the two books he had collected, while Mazhe pulled out his.

“Right. I have 'Boneless Limbs', and 'Gnashing Blades'.”

“And I have 'Delving Pincers', and 'Prying Orbs',” said Harry.

“So we have tentacles,” said Justin, “Put 'Boneless Limbs' there.”

“Tommy...” Mazhe handed over the book in question.

“The lobster claws, that might be 'Delving Pincers',” said Mazhe.

“Here, then.” Harry passed over the other book, then located the pedestal with the lobster claws as the picture. As soon as he placed the book on the pedestal, it shimmered a green colour before falling silent.

“Great. So, 'Prying Orbs'... where was the eye?”

“Over there,” said Tommy, as he returned to the group.

“You mind?”

At Tommy's nod, Justin passed up the book, while Mazhe took the other book to the pedestal with the fangs on it. Then, as soon as the books were all in place, the column at the centre shimmered a moment, before an alcove popped open, revealing another book, which would teleport them to the next area. The four of them touched it in rapid succession.

The last section at last opened up to the acid sky, and Mazhe was immediately drawn to what looked like a word wall—though the design was slightly different. After dealing with the pair of seekers guarding it, Mazhe approached the wall, much more at ease with the process. As the swirling current of energy burrowed itself into him, he could see the word forming in his mind's eye, along with one he'd earned a while back in Miraak's temple. ' _Qah_ ', learned here, matched up with the previously learned word, ' _Mul_ '.

“Harry. _Qah_ in the dragon language.”

“Uh... let me think a sec. Armour. It means armour.”

“So, mul and qah... Strength-armour—“

“Guys!” Tommy pointed madly toward a shadow that was approaching fast.

“Marvellous. A dragon in Apocrypha,” Mazhe snorted, as everyone readied themselves.

“Hold on a tic,” said Tommy, “We're out in the open, right? What was the word the demon taught you?”

“' _Dov_ '—“

“Dragon,” Harry finished, “Remember the conversation we had with Hermaeus Mora when you read _Waking Dreams_?”

“... _bend mortals to your will_ —Harry, that's mental. I'll eat my boots if this works on a dragon.”

The dragon was upon them, and it was then the group noticed the different appearance. This one had serpentine features, rather than the scaly reptilian features seen up to this point. It flew overhead, laying down a stream of frost, which narrowly missed Justin.

“Mazhe, at least try it!” Harry shouted, readying a shock spell, while drawing his wand.

The dragon circled around to make another run at them. Tommy had drawn his forty-millimetre grenade launcher, while Justin had drawn his wand. It was most certainly an odd group.

The spells and weapons were not needed, however.

“ _Gol... HAH DOV!_ ” The shock wave from Mazhe's shout rippled outward to impact with the dragon, and it immediately changed posture, opening its wings to land.

“Hail, _thuri_ ,” it spoke, “Your _thu'um_ has the mastery. Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak.”

“ _Drem yol lok_ ,” said Mazhe, somewhat dazed, “Can... can you take all of us?”

“I can carry only two of you.”

“What... what name do you go by, mighty _dovah_?” Harry inquired.

“I am Sahrotaar,” the dragon answered, as Harry reached into his rucksack and again drew out his chest.

“Harry, rather than us being stuck in the chest, I can fetch my broom. Tommy and I will follow behind you guys,” Justin suggested.

“That's brilliant.”

“Harry, why don't you grab yours as well?”

“No. I'll stay with you. You attack on the ground, and if... Sahrotaar is in agreement, I will remain with him and attack from the air.”

“If that is what my master so desires,” Sahrotaar answered.

“It sounds as good a plan as any. What sort of magic does Miraak know?”

“He wields powerful shock magic, and has mastered numerous _rotmulaag(2)_. Beware. Miraak is strong. He knew you would come here.”

“Against the four of us. While Mazhe works from the ground, we'll keep him busy in the air.”

“One other thing you should know,” Sahrotaar warned, “I am one of three _dovah_ in the service of Miraak.”

“And the others will be there as well,” Justin guessed.

“Great. Right, come on, guys. Let us put minds and hands to purpose,” said Harry, resolve in his voice.

Once Justin had retrieved his broom, Harry again closed up the chest, and stowed it away. Mazhe had by then climbed aboard the dragon, and he quickly helped his friend up to sit behind him. Justin, meanwhile, straddled his broom, with Tommy climbing on behind. Sahrotaar seemed curious as to how that was going to work, but was momentarily shocked, as the pair of them lifted off to hover on the right.

“Most curious magic,” the dragon noted.

“When one is not born with wings, one has to improvise,” said Justin, with a smirk.

“This is true.”

“All right. Lead the way, we'll follow close by.”

Having been on Harry's broom on a number of occasions, Mazhe was more than ready for the strange feeling as Sahrotaar lifted off and took flight. From there, it was a fast-paced flight, heading in the direction of a large cylindrical plateau in the distance. It looked insanely high, even from where they were.

The ride was actually relatively short, given the speed. They at last circled overhead, quickly picking out two other dragons, perched above enormous arches that towered above the circle. And at the centre of the plateau, stood a lone figure.

“Sahrotaar,” the figure mocked, “Are you so easily swayed?”

The other dragons moved to take off, but Miraak forestalled them. “No. Not yet. We must greet our guest first.”

Sahrotaar landed gently a little ways away from where Miraak stood, and Mazhe hopped off.

“Back in the air,” he said, and Sahrotaar quickly obliged, though he didn't go far, choosing to remain close to the circle, allowing Harry to hear every word of the conversation between the two Dragonborn.

“And so the first Dragonborn meets the last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha,” Miraak spoke, as the two met. “No doubt, just as Hermaeus Mora intended. He is a fickle master, you know. But now I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over. You are here in your full power, and thus subject to _my_ full power. You will die. And with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again.”

“You think Hermaeus Mora will just let you leave... even if you do manage to take my life?” Mazhe asked.

“I am certain I will gain the power to once again be master of my own fate,” said Miraak, confidently, “ _Kruziikrel_! _Relonikiv_! Now!”

“ _WULD_!”

Mazhe streaked across the plateau in time to miss the blast of fire Miraak had sent toward him. Miraak was then forced to do the same time, this time to duck a red blast of magic that came from Justin. It impacted with the ground, leaving a gouge mark.

Justin then had to do a mad dive to get out of the line of fire as Kruziikrel sent a plume of fire in his direction, and Tommy's aim was sent wildly off, as he let fly a forty-millimetre grenade. In a situation such as this, it was either go big, or go home. The shell landed in a pile of ruined books, creating an explosion of shredded parchment.

“Sahrotaar, get on Relonikiv's tail,” Harry ordered. The dragon turned to give pursuit, while Harry readied his wand. The dragons were keeping Harry and Justin occupied, negating the advantage.

“ _Stupefy_!”

The spell went wide, but drew the attention of the dragon, who let fly a spray of frost, which Sahrotaar easily avoided.

“ _Stupefy_!”

Again, the spell went wide, as Relonikiv was just as good at avoiding the dangerous spell work.

“ _Bombarda maxima_!”

This time, the spell made contact, and although it only grazed the tail, it sent the dragon spinning wildly, hurtling toward the acid-green sea below. It made an awful splash, and let out ungodly shrieks, being burned by the deadly liquid.

“It will not kill him,” said Sahrotaar.

“It's painful and it'll keep him occupied. Let us return to the plateau.”

Harry then looked around for Justin and Tommy. They were pursuing the other dragon, who looked to be bleeding in dozens of places—right, Tommy had likely opened up on it using a machine gun—MP5, if he remembered correctly the dragon encounter near Riften.

Mazhe, meanwhile, was in the fight of his life. Of all the things he had fought, the dangers he had faced in his young life, Miraak overshadowed them all. He cast absolutely lethal magic, and perhaps far worse, he was master of a half-dozen shouts.

“ _Fus RO DAH!_ ”

Mazhe narrowly escaped being blown off the plateau, as the shock wave rolled out and into the atmosphere. He instantly countered, sending a blast of fire at his opponent.

“ _Wuld NAH KEST_!”

Miraak rocketed across the plateau unscathed, and instantly produced a shield ward.

“ _Mul QAH DIIV_!”

Now Mazhe remembered what the shout looked like. A strange ghost-like shadow seemed to overlay Miraak, resembling a dragon. What did it do, though?

“Mul QAH!”

The outline was similar on Mazhe, though not as bright.

“So, you use my own shout against me. You learn quickly,” said Miraak, holding the ward shield.

“I have to,” said Mazhe, “I like this world. I'd rather it not end. I will learn to use every weapon I can to ensure the end of Alduin, as will my friends.”

“Ah. They wanted to use me to deal with Alduin - Hakon and the rest.”

“You abandoned your duty, Miraak.”

“No. I simply chose a different path.”

BOOM. The blast came out of nowhere, sending Miraak hurtling over the side of the plateau.

“Good shot, Tommy,” said Mazhe, ending the ward shield. “Where's the dragon?”

“Uh, up there,” said Justin, smirking, and pointing. Harry, on the back of Sahrotaar, followed his finger, and had to smirk himself, seeing Kruziikrel somehow hanging by an invisible hook.

“What'd you do to him?”

“Immobilus charm,” Justin grinned, “Gods... uh, what did you to to the—“

There came a flash from the centre of the plateau, and Miraak's disembodied voice cried out, “ _Kruziikrel, ziil los dii du!_ ”

There came a swirling storm of energy the group had all seen by this point, coming from the immobilized dragon, to connect with the ethereal form of Miraak. It instantly died, its soul being ripped from its body.

“Did you think to escape me?” Miraak mocked, again producing a ward shield. Mazhe instantly followed suit, while Sahrotaar unleashed another blast of frost.

“Jupiter's cock,” Harry muttered, “The guy's immortal. Justin! Tommy! End the other one!”

“On it, Harry!” Justin swung his broom around and entered a dive, while Harry kept attention on his friend. Unfortunately he was somewhat limited, since he could very well hit Mazhe instead of Miraak. Perhaps, then, a new tactic.

“Sahrotaar, I wish to fight from the ground.”

“As you wish.” The dragon set down heavily, and Harry dismounted, to instantly fling a shock spell toward Miraak. It went wide.

“Back in the air, try and distract him.”

KAWHACK! The ice spike came suddenly, and Harry had to duck to avoid it, not having time to erect a shield. Sahrotaar let out a terrible roar and collapsed, the projectile having impacted with his right leg.

“So easily swayed, Sahrotaar,” Miraak again mocked, “ _Ven GAAR NOS!(3)_ ”

It was an instant twister, a fast-moving, violent column of air that swept toward the pair. Harry suddenly felt himself flung aside by something akin to a giant hand, and Sahrotaar let out another angry roar, as he was swept from the plateau by the powerful wind.

“You are in my power here,” Miraak again mocked, sending a blast of fire toward Harry, who was just scrambling to his feet.

CRACK. Harry vanished, to reappear on the opposite side of the plateau, a look of fury plastered across his face.

“ _Stupefy_!”

The spell crashed harmlessly into the shield.

“ _Fus RO DAH_!” Came Mazhe's shout, and there was a crash of glass as Miraak's shield was shattered.

“ _Stupefy_!”

That was coupled with a strong shock spell. Miraak avoided the stunner, but the shock spell hit home, leaving him shaken. He cursed, the words not loud enough to hear, but drew both a blade and a most unusual staff. All too quickly, they found out what it could do. When cast, it spewed a terrible stream of black fluid that, when it made contact, sprouted dozens of nasty tentacles. There was no illusion as to what they would do should they make contact.

“Harry, keep him busy!” Mazhe called, digging through his rucksack, and pulling out a blue bottle—magicka-replenishing potion, Harry realized, as he unleashed another volley of attacks.

There came a beating of wings, and Harry mentally groaned. Justin and Tommy were—he stopped mid-thought, realizing that Sahrotaar had returned, though looking a little battered, and sporting a number of burns. He too, had fell into the deadly acid below.

“ _Fo KRAH DIIN_!” A bloom of frost exploded from the dragon's mouth, showering the first dragonborn.

“Wuh!” he cried, being slowed by the cold. It also sapped his magicka, which was already low.

“ _Wuld NAH KEST_!” He blasted across the plateau, to the edge, and vanished, to moments later appear in the centre pool again, in ghost form.

“ _Relonikiv, ziil los dii du!_ ”

This time, there came a swirling mass of energy from below to burrow inside of Miraak, and he again erected his ward. Now, though, Harry realized what was happening, and equally knew how to put a stop to it. Sahrotaar would be Miraak's undoing.

“Harry?!”

“Justin!”

“Relonikiv... he just died, we didn't—“

“We know!” Mazhe shouted back, “He's using them to regenerate himself!”

“ _Fus RO DAH!_ ” Came Sahrotaar's shout. Miraak managed to get clear of most of it, but was still sent flying across the plateau and into one of the acid pools.

“Aaaaaaah!” he snarled, the mask being dislodge from his face. Both Mazhe and Harry ware momentarily surprised to find a younger-looking Nord with ice-blue eyes staring back at them. He hauled himself out of the pool, easily dodging more spell work from Justin and Harry.

“Your friends were... unexpected,” said Miraak, heaving. The battle was starting to wear him down.

“I would do anything for my mate,” said Harry, from behind his shield, “Just as he would do anything for me.”

“It is my regret that things must end this way.”

“But why? True power is not in the domination of others, but the loyalty, adoration, and respect you gain from them instead. To make someone fear you, that is simply the road taken by a tyrant.”

“The time for talk has long passed, Harry,” said Miraak, “ _Fo KRAH DIIN!_ ”

CRACK. Harry was gone long before the shout had left his mouth. He appeared at the centre of the plateau, drawing his dagger.

“I grow tired, time to finish this!” he shouted, and as Miraak turned, there came another noisy crack, and Harry appeared directly behind him. Miraak let out a gasp, feeling the daedric dagger penetrate his back, and pass clean through, out the other side.

“You... cannot... _Wuld_...” the shout was weak, but still worked, as Miraak rocketed across the plateau yet again, and vanished. However, this time, Harry was ready for him when he reappeared at the centre of the plateau.

“ _Silencio_!”

Miraak tried to form the words of the shout, and though his mouth moved, the _thu'um_ would not form, since it needed not just the dragonborn's magical pool, but the sound.

“It's over, Miraak. May you find atonement in the afterlife.”

Harry turned to find Justin had landed, and now held his broom with his left hand, the wand trained on the dying man. Tommy stood beside him, brandishing the MP5. Mazhe had joined Harry, a fireball primed in both hands, while Sahrotaar still circled overhead.

“You... were worthy opponents.” Miraak made eye contact with Mazhe. “You are strong. Stronger than I thought possible.”

“It didn't have to be this way.”

It was not the end of the surprises, however. A cloud of eyes formed nearby, and a single tentacle rose from the pool and snaked around Miraak's waist, raising it up high above the ground.

“Did you _think_ you could escape me, Miraak? You can hide _nothing_ from me here!” came Hermaeus Mora's enraged voice. Another tentacle rose from the pool, poised to make a hole through the man's skull.

“No matter. I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me.”

“May he be rewarded for his service as I am!” said Miraak, remaining defiant, although the life was leaving him.

“Wait,” said Mazhe, holding up a hand, forestalling the daedric lord's impending death blow. “I think I could benefit from your former servant's misfortune.”

“Do tell,” said Hermaeus Mora, the cloud of eyes all coming to focus on his new champion.

“He coveted power. Perhaps, he should taste the opposite end of the equation. The terms being this. Miraak will fall under my control. Failure to comply, whether by death or defiance, he will immediately fall back to your pleasure, to do with him as you see fit. Seeing as he is facing a painful afterlife here in your realm, I offer this as a reprieve.”

Hermaeus Mora let out a chuckle.

“ _Heh_ , Miraak harboured fantasies of _rebellion_ against me. Perhaps this alternative you offer may remind him of his failings. I will be merciful... for now.”

Mazhe gave an incline of the head, as the tentacle lowered the now unconscious Miraak to the ground. Mazhe smirked.

“ _Gol... HAH DOV_!”

Miraak didn't move, but an aura shimmered about him a moment before vanishing. The daedric lord gave another chuckle.

“Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded.”

The cloud of eyes vanished, while a lattice-like framework rose up out of the shallow pool at the centre of the plateau. One side opened up, revealing a book, much like had happened when he'd read the black book in Nchardak.

“You call me mental? Jupiter's cock, Mazhe!”

“I took the opportunity to gain another ally.”

“Slave, more like it!”

“For now. Perhaps he will become more than that.”

“Fine. So be it. But you don't mention this to anyone, particularly not Spartacus or the rest of the gladiators. I have a reputation I'd rather not have destroyed,” said Harry.

Justin, meanwhile, was already casting a strong healing charm on Miraak. The knife wound needed to be taken care of at once.

“We'll need to see healer Ferris as soon as possible,” he said.

“Once we speak to Frea,” said Mazhe, “She needs to know what happened. We may not have killed Miraak, but he's neutralized.”

Harry scowled. “She wanted him dead.”

“For a while, he'll wish he was dead. Now let's wrap things up. Sahrotaar. Are you able to land?”

“Yes, dovahkiin, though with discomfort.”

“I've got Miraak stabilized enough that we can move him. Sahrotaar, land so we can cast some healing charms.”

The dragon did as ask, though he let out a growl as he momentarily put weight on his injured leg. Mazhe, Harry, and Justin all converged and began casting the strongest healing spells they knew. Though the wound wasn't completely healed, it was more than sufficient that the dragon was able to stand on it without too much discomfort.

“Now, one last problem,” Tommy said, “How will we get Sahrotaar through the portal?”

“Uh...”

“Shit.”

“Never thought of that,” Harry realized.

“No, hold on. How did we get in here in the first place?”

“Through touch,” Harry remembered.

“Then it's easy.” Harry again produced his chest. “We'll have to levitate Miraak inside for now. Gods, really wish you'd consulted with us first though, Mazhe. What if he goes off on us or something?”

“That cannot happen,” said Sahrotaar, “ _Bend Will(4)_ is permanent.”

“You are forever bound to me?” Mazhe again looked very uncomfortable at the idea.

“It is so.”

“I... did not wish to make you my slave.”

“I have served Miraak long years. I was honoured to serve him, as I am now honoured to serve you, dovahkiin.”

“It's Mazhe.”

Justin and Harry were then lowering Miraak into the chest.

“Never before have I seen such a chest,” the dragon remarked.

“It belongs to Harry. The lot of us had it made for him a couple of years ago. He's gotten plenty of use out of it.”

“Yet, the magic he wields, it is not like any of the magic _joor_ have here.”

“You're right. It's not,” said Mazhe, “Harry doesn't come from Nirn. His home world is a place called Earth. I've been there. They don't have elven kind... at least not in the same sense.”

“And the dovah?”

“They know your language, but that's about all they have in common.”

“Just about ready?” Tommy had reappeared standing at the top of the ladder. “Harry's gonna remain in the chest with us.”

“Right. Close the lid, then.”

The lid slammed shut, and Mazhe quickly collected it, and slipped it into his pocket.

“Ready to return to Nirn?”

“I am ready.”

Sahrotaar clumsily crawled over to the lattice-like structure where Mazhe stood. Mazhe opened the heavy tome, touched the dragon on the nose, and touched the book. Both found themselves being pulled through the void of space, and suddenly, back into the light of day.

It was some time later before the chest was opened, and Mazhe peered inside.

“We're back, guys.”

“Tommy... you mind remaining with me while we see to Miraak?”

“Sure.”

“Excellent. Let us conclude our business here, so we may get back to the villa,” said Harry, already climbing up the ladder.

Outside, he found Frea and a few others had gathered, and all were casting nervous eyes toward Sahrotaar, who was crouched close by.

“Mazhe has told us of the victory against Miraak, but I must equally thank you,” said Frea.

“It was the right thing to do,” answered Harry, “And I am sorry for your loss. Though I did not know your father, my sense tells me he was a good man.”

“Your words are kind. But I must give you the same warning I have given Mazhe. You may have used the tools and knowledge of Hermaeus Mora to defeat Miraak, but you would be wise to avoid seeking him out or having further contact. His path can only lead to a dark future.”

“I know that, Frea. Unfortunately I have no choice. For, as Mazhe has his own purpose here, I, equally, have a similar fate from where I come. A destiny that Hermaeus Mora has offered me a solution to—something I can't just pass up. Perhaps it will mean my soul belonging to him in the end, but it if will protect the world I come from, prevent eventual ruin, then it is a path I must take. The gods place us on this world—or mine—for a purpose.”

“This is true,” Frea agreed, “I pray you do not stray to the darkness. May the All-Maker keep the path for you clear.”

She gathered a smile. “And don't wait to make your union official.”

“Uh...” Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, but couldn't muster a response.

Mazhe, meanwhile, had to grin madly. He and Harry were standing dangerously close to one another.

“Well then. Uh... Sahrotaar. I would ask you remain close to the village for now, help to protect the people here.”

“It would be my honour, dovahkiin.”

“We'd best be off.”

“Yes, back to the villa,” Harry decided, “Though I'll want a bit of rest before we face the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry and his circle have a conversation with their new 'ally'; Justin ropes in Harry and a few friends to help him test something he's been working on, with fantastic results; and more unwanted visitors at the villa force the Commonwealth to do something drastic..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: The scene in which Storn is murdered by Hermaeus Mora—the first time I played the expansion, I had no clue that's what would happen, and I did feel really bad for him, knowing that my actions had killed him. Make no mistake, Hermaeus Mora is not a nice god. This really showed the face of him, what he's really all about._   
> _An interesting note about Miraak... he does know the Unrelenting Force shout, but I've never actually seen him use it. Considering powerful high-level Draugr use it, it confuses me as to why Miraak doesn't. (Then again, perhaps one should be thankful he doesn't, it would result in a far more painful meeting)_   
> _(1) Meyrot, kendov – Foolish words, warrior. Mey (foolish), and rot (words, in the spoken or written sense._   
> _(2) Rotmulaag – Word of power._   
> _(3) Ven Gaar Nos – Cyclone shout. “Your thu'um creates a whirling cyclone that sows chaos among your enemies.”_   
> _(4) In the vanilla game, 'Bend Will' only lasts for a while. Eventually, the target will be released from the magic, and more often than not, become hostile—most definitely if it was a dragon put under the spell._


	30. Unplanned Good Bye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry and his circle have a conversation with their new 'ally'; Justin ropes in Harry and a few friends to help him test something he's been working on, with fantastic results; and more unwanted visitors at the villa force the Commonwealth to do something drastic..._

**30: UNPLANNED GOOD BYE**

* * *

Though they returned to the villa immediately by port key, Mazhe and Harry vanished into the chest as soon as it was produced and set up in Spartacus' cell. The cell's owner was elsewhere, but neither Mazhe nor Harry thought much of it for now, only intent on getting some rest after the insane adventure they'd just been through. A glance outside had confirmed the afternoon training session was under way, though Harry was momentarily surprised to note that Numerius was watching from the balcony.

Just before dinner, Harry was once again up and about. Immediately, he checked in on their captive, but found he was still very much out of it. The first dragonborn looked terribly white, like death warmed over. Of course, that goes with the territory of losing as much blood as he did. The healing charms they'd used were only meant to stabilize him—much more work was needed before he would fully recover. That meant a talk with healer Ferris.

The healer showed up not long after, thanks to a call placed by Justin. Healer Ferris asked no questions, but got to work, assessing the injuries and applying the appropriate remedies.

“The knife wound should have been fatal,” she noted, “Under normal circumstances it would have caused him to bleed out in under a minute.”

“The circumstances were nothing but normal, madam healer,” said Mazhe.

“I see.” She pursed her lips again, not really surprised by this point. A house call to deal with Harry or his friends usually meant something beyond normal circumstances.

She had barely left, when Miraak finally stirred. He rubbed his eyes, then glanced around, looking momentarily confused.

“You're in my hidden private quarters,” Harry explained.

“You... ah, of course,” said Miraak, as everything came back to him. He focused on Mazhe. “Clever of you, bending me to your will. Without Hermaeus Mora, such a feat would not have been possible. Remember, he is a fickle master. He will turn on you, as he did me. Why then. Why would you not see my life ended?”

“Because I need your help,” Mazhe answered, simply, “I saw a way to better the odds against Alduin, and give you a chance to return to the path you were meant to follow.”

“Perhaps in the course of doing so, you might redeem yourself,” Harry added. He sat on the couch opposite.

“I see. And when you finish with me, I am simply returned to the servitude of Hermaeus Mora.”

“I think it will be your actions from here forward that will determine your fate, Miraak,” said Justin. He sat in one of the chairs, while Tommy chose to stand off to the side. He was unarmed, but it would be a mistake to think he was vulnerable.

“Very well. I concede to the unexpected tactics of your fellow mage." Miraak indicated to Harry. "To have the _thu'um_ silenced so, I believed it impossible.”

“He's not from around... well...”

“I'm from a different world,” Harry answered, “Our magic is a little different than what you might know.”

“Most unexpected. You would have an advantage in many battles.”

“As it does play out, yes. Doesn't necessarily guarantee victory though. Arrogance will only eventually lead to defeat. Skill is only one part of an opponent. Tactics, patience, resolve... to know when to lead, and when to follow. It is a combination of those things that victory or defeat rest upon.”

“You have fought battles at your age.” it was not a question.

“Perhaps you might recognize this...” said Harry, reaching into his rucksack, and drawing out the mask he'd claimed from Labyrinthian.

“ _Morokei_ ,” Miraak whispered, as his eyes fell on the mask. “You defeated him alone?”

“No. The four of us did.”

Miraak closed his eyes, then opened them again, seeming to think on something.

“I was one of them. You not only defeat me, but you defeat a former brother.”

“Does this upset you?” Harry asked, as he put the mask away.

“It does not. I abandoned the dragons and their cult. Hermaeus Mora promised power the dragons and their cult could not.”

“But there is a flaw in that plan, isn't there?” said Justin, “Rather than having the adoration and respect of your fellow man, your very name garners only scorn and fear. That's not power, that's tyranny.”

“Our views may differ on what power truly means, but I do concede to your skill and your tactics. Perhaps there we find middle ground.”

“We have more than that,” said Mazhe, “Power is nothing without a world to harness it from, to enjoy it from. With no people alive, you have nothing from which to obtain your power. You must agree this is so.”

“Conceded.”

“Alduin has returned.”

“Then it marks the end times.”

“Unless we stop him. Between the lot of us, there has to be a chance to put an end to his plot for good,” said Mazhe, “I was given the blood of the _dovah_ for a reason. This is my path, my fate... and I could really use your help.”

“Your words hold truth. I will join you. The first dragonborn... and the last.”

Steps coming down the ladder had everyone's attention, as Pietros entered the chest, with Varro following close behind.

“You return to us,” said Pietros.

“Of course,” said Harry, “It was an adventure today. We needed some time to recover.”

“You were injured?” Varro asked.

“Not so much physically. It was draining in other ways,” said Mazhe.

“Your number has swelled.”

“This is Miraak. He will be joining us from here on out,” said Harry. “Uh, Miraak, this is Varro, and Pietros.”

“Former foes that now become allies,” said Mazhe.

“Fate does tend to create rather strange bedfellows,” Justin commented, “Gods, still find it completely nuts that... hours ago we were trying to kill each other.”

Tommy let out a snort. “No kidding.”

“Be glad that victory did not mean death for the vanquished,” said Varro, sadly.

“A conversation with a certain deity made certain that didn't happen... though it nearly did,” said Mazhe.

“That topped off the craziest shit I've seen, I think. I mean, uh, riding on the back of a dragon...” Tommy shook his head.

Harry smirked, and summoned a salt-shaker from the kitchen. “So, my mate, my love, my friend... how would you like them?”

“What?”

Harry glanced down at Mazhe's boots. Justin simply smirked, while Tommy nearly fell over, he was laughing so hard.

“I don't understand the amusement,” said Miraak.

“Mazhe strongly doubted the strength of the 'bend will' shout,” said Harry, smirking.

“So, he promised to eat his boots if it worked,” Justin continued.

“That does not sound appetizing,” said Varro, looking confused.

“Gods, I was not talking a literal sense!” said Mazhe, rolling his eyes.

“Do not doubt the power of your voice, Mazhe.” 

Miraak thought for a moment, as he sat up, and planted feet on the floor.

“How many shouts have you learned all of the words to?”

“Unrelenting Force, and Bend Will. That is all.”

“Then your knowledge is still limited. That must be corrected, if you are to have any hope of defeating the world-eater.”

“I am open to whatever you can teach. Even that which the Greybeards would not.”

“In here would not be a wise place to begin such lessons.”

“Show him the Virtual Projection Room and explain how it works,” said Harry. “Equally, since the three of us have had experience with Hermaeus Mora and his books, we should also seek additional knowledge from them.”

“You have read from his books, then.”

“Done more than that,” said Justin, scowling at Harry, “Gods... you condemned an innocent man to that demon's realm.”

“You know how to work the books as a trap.”

“Yes, though Hermaeus Mora helped, I think. There was some sort of note in the front of 'Waking Dreams' that explained how.”

“How many have you sent to Apocrypha?”

“Only two, so far.”

“Then you are both in the service of Hermaeus Mora.”

“Perhaps, though not by intention. But a couple of people stomped on my dick nerve, and I thought it rather fitting to use as a punishment.”

Miraak simply nodded.

“It now makes sense, as to why he granted Mazhe's request. You have pleased him several times over, gaining favour. What sort of task did he assign that permitted you to reach me?”

“He asked for the secrets of the Skaal, a small tribe of Nords.”

“I know of them.”

“I knew Hermaeus Mora would probe the shaman's thoughts, but I didn't expect the man to end up dead,” said Mazhe, sadly.

“And thus you now know of his depravity,” said Miraak, simply.

“A lesson well-learned.”

It was then that Justin's mobile rang. He pulled it out, and answered it, moving into his room for privacy.

“You will be conducting the training lesson in the morning?” Varro questioned.

“A bit of routine would be a good thing. Yeah, definitely.”

“You are aware the Magistrate's son is a visitor to the villa.”

“When did he arrive?”

“During afternoon training, absent his father. His mother was distraught.”

“His father went missing the other day. Batiatus received a message at the end of the games,” Harry remembered.

“If you will be training with your friends here, then I will work with Miraak in the Virtual Projection Room.”

“I'll meet up with you guys during lunch.”

* * *

As was planned, the group somewhat went in separate directions the following morning. Tommy did stay with Harry as he conducted the morning training session, but Justin left immediately after the morning mental exercises. Given the closer contact they had with the Commonwealth, he was taking advantage of it. Mazhe, meanwhile, disappeared into the Virtual Projection Room with Miraak. Harry did have a bit of concern about Miraak, considering that not too long prior, he had been an enemy. Mazhe, however, was not, and so the issue was dropped.

It was nearly lunch time before Spartacus appeared from his cell, letting his eyes adjust to the bright sun. He at first was about to call out to Doctore, but then realized Harry was running the lesson.

“Harry. I would work the palus.”

Harry gave a gesture of assent. “Proceed. Good to see you back on your feet again.”

Spartacus began to cross the square to the palus—a large woonden post that functioned as a training dummy, but stopped, noticing Numerius was watching from the balcony.

“Young Numerius. You again honour us with your presence.”

Harry glanced up at the balcony. “You're welcome to join us.”

The the boy may as well have Apparated, he vanished so quickly. Spartacus, meanwhile, abandoned the idea of working the palus, and instead joined Harry and Tommy.

“Healer Ferris wants you to take it easy, remember,” said Harry.

“I have remained on my back long enough.”

Only seconds later, Numerius appeared, a guard following a short distance behind.

“Numerius. I offer my condolences for your loss,” said Harry, “To lose a parent, it is a heavy thing.”

“Gratitude for your words.” Numerius thought for a moment. “You speak from experience.”

“Regretfully, yes. Count yourself lucky to have known both of your parents—to know that they both love and care for you—to experience that love. I lost both of mine before my second birthday. My mother's touch is absent from my memory.”

“Apologies,” said Numerius, sadly.

“Right. Enough dark thoughts and memories, the both of you,” said Tommy.

Harry rolled his eyes, but brightened. “Numerius, this is a dear friend, Tommy. A good number of things that I have taught the gladiators here, Tommy has taught me. So today, I join you as a student, rather than as an instructor...”

For the next few days, things fell into a bit of a routine. It appeared that Numerius and his mother were staying for the immediate term at the villa, and so he was a frequent visitor to the square during training. Justin, meanwhile, began assessing where Harry was at academically. That was done in the latter part of the afternoon, after which, the group retreated back into the chest for dinner.

Dinner was once again far more appetizing, considered Harry once again had access to Vekel's dishes. He'd missed cuisine from Skyrim. He had no ill will toward the food he'd been getting at the villa, but ancient Roman cuisine was rather different than what he was used to.

Dinner also proved to be a rather noisy affair, since more often than not, Harry played host to some of the gladiators. After all, the chest lid was left open, and there was an open invitation that stood as long as people behaved themselves while in his quarters.

* * *

_10 September, 2006 / 10 Hearthfire, 4E201 / Unknown dates, 73 BCE_

The morning training session had just ended, and Harry had claimed a table in the common area.

“Looks like the skies could open up at any moment,” said Mazhe.

“The skies may weep, but it matters not. Training will still proceed,” said Varro, taking a seat a little ways down.

“This is true. We've dealt with our share of wet weather,” said Harry, as a plate of salad appeared in front of him. He smirked. “Gods, this is one thing I have missed in the year I have been here.”

“From where does your meal come?” inquired Duro, as he claimed a seat at the next table.

“I have a... well... a friend prepare it. It started as a safety precaution, but it's now a preference. Back where I'm from, there are people who would do me harm by contaminating in my food... Mazhe... push over a bit.” Harry flicked his eyes toward Miraak.

“Oh. Right.” Mazhe shifted over, inadvertently squeezing closer to Harry, but making a spot so their new friend could have a seat.

“When the meal is completed, there is something I would share with both of you.”

“Something out of the black books,” Harry guessed.

“No,” Miraak answered, “The Ohgma Infinium.”

“Neither of us have looked at it,” said Mazhe, “For reasons you are already aware of.”

“Reasons which will bring about your end. You stand against the world-eater, and with your limited knowledge, you cannot hope to defeat him, let alone destroy him.”

“Who is this 'world-eater'?” Pietros asked. He'd chosen to stand, back against a heavy support post, while he ate.

“A matter we're dealing with in our own world,” Mazhe answered, “None of you here need to worry about it.”

Harry glanced out at the square just in time to see Justin materialize near the corner where the portal was hidden. He'd likely just come through it. At once, he was making a bee-line for them, and he looked excited.

“Harry. I need your help.”

“What's going on?”

“Something I've been working on now for the past couple of years. I mean, there's a number of projects I'm working on, but this... this is one of the more important ones.”

“And?”

“Well, the past few days I've been working with the Arcane Sciences Division at their outpost in San Francisco. The satellite office on board the Ragnar's nice, but Cisco Outpost's got better toys and equipment.”

“What's the project?” Tommy asked.

“Finish your lunches, guys, and I'll show you. What I need is some assistance testing it out. And...” Justin pointed to Pietros and then Spartacus. “If possible, you guys should come along.”

“Batiatus won't like it,” said Harry, but then smirked. “You guys are welcome to come, I'll smooth things over later. Just know that... I have no desire to talk to anyone.”

“Harry, that's not productive,” said Justin, “Whether you believe it or not, the Commonwealth does still have your best interests in mind. Do you think they would have done as they have, spending the amount of time and energy they have, erecting the portal to come rescue you? Just think about that. Stop painting us all with the same brush.”

Harry blew out a breath. “Right. I'm not ready to forgive just yet. Neither is Tommy, for that matter. Just... let's finish our lunch, and...” Harry glanced at Tommy, who gave a nod. “We'll help you with your project. How long will we be?”

“Likely the rest of the afternoon.”

“Doctore. A word?”

Unlike travelling by port key, the portal was far less of a discomfort. It was just a matter of stepping through, as if passing through a doorway. Harry momentarily frowned, finding himself in the Magnus Chamber, since it was the origin of the gateway. A separate gateway lay open immediately beside it, providing a link back to Skyrim.

Miraak, however, immediately spotted the Orb of Magnus. It hovered above an ornate cradle at the centre of the room, giving off a soft blue-green glow.

“The memory of it pales compared to its literal presence.”

“The heartbeat of the Commonwealth,” said Justin.

“The pain felt during its summoning is forever burned in our memories,” said Spartacus.

“You bear no magic, yet you participated in its summoning.”

“One mage, four supporters,” said Mazhe, “As long as the mage is powerful enough, it was sufficient.”

“This is true.”

“Getting off track, guys,” said Justin, “Follow me, we'll be travelling the rest of the way by floo powder.”

The large group was escorted to an elevator that took them up to the city level—which was still six kilometres underground.

“Where are we now?” asked Pietros. His stomach still felt like it had butterflies in it from the strange rising sensation he'd just experienced, it being his first ride in an elevator.

“This is the headquarters for the Ministry of Science and Technology,” said Justin, “Now. We're travelling by floo powder. Uh... three of you haven't done so before, so, the rules. Remain still, and hold on tightly to the person escorting you, and keep your arms tucked in. Otherwise you might get lost and end up spit out of a grate only who knows where. Lastly, keep your eyes tightly closed—unless you want them filled with soot. Do those things, and we'll all get where we're going.”

“Is this... safe?” Pietros asked, nervously.

“We've been using this form of transportation for many years. People get misdirected sometimes, but... for the most part it's perfectly safe.”

They now stood in front of an enormous fireplace.

“Harry, I'll let you go first, so the others can see it done. You know where we're going?”

“Fox Theatre.”

“Right.”

“I'll take Spartacus through. Uh... Mazhe, you bring Miraak, and... uh.”

“I'll bring Pietros,” Tommy offered.

Harry approached the fireplace, and clutched a handful of dark powder from a pot hanging just to the right of it.

“Ready?”

“I am ready,” said Spartacus.

“Grab onto my arm, and do not let go of it for any reason.”

At the man's nod, Harry flung the powder into the fire, causing it to flare up a brilliant green. Spartacus hesitated a moment, suddenly doubting the sanity of walking into a fire, but Harry dragged him along and stepped into it, while commanding, “Fox Theatre!”

Being around Harry for a year, Spartacus was ready for just about anything when it came to magic. This, however, once again caught him off guard. It felt like he was being dragged down some sort of pipe. He clutched onto Harry tightly, as they spun around madly, a tremendous roaring sound filling his ears... now he regretted lunch, as it was threatening to make an encore appearance, with his stomach doing loop-the-loops. Then... as quick as it had started, he felt himself being pushed out a grate, to topple onto a hard surface.

“Jupiter's cock...”

“All right there?”

“It was an experience I desire to soon forget, Harry.”

“It's never agreed with me either.”

Harry climbed to his feet, and offered his friend a hand. They had just gotten out of the way, when Tommy and Pietros were expelled from the grate, faring no better. They were quickly helped to their feet, just in time for the fireplace to expel Mazhe and Miraak. They faltered, but did not end up on the floor. Finally, Justin stepped out of the grate without missing a beat.

“I hate you.”

Justin only smirked and stuck his tongue out at his young friend, before producing his wand and vanishing the soot from his clothes. Harry picked up on the idea and helped the others.

“Great. Now...”

“Where are we?” Spartacus asked, looking around.

“It's difficult to explain,” said Justin, “This is a rather expensive dressing for the real purpose. Just follow me.”

He led them through the lobby, to a bank of elevators.

“Right. You'll each be needing these,” said Justin, reaching into his satchel and producing a number of plastic tags.

“Hang them around your neck like—“

“Like this,” said Harry, accepting one of them and putting it on.

“We travel in the same manner we left the chamber bearing the Orb of Magnus,” Spartacus guessed.

“Exactly. Elevators are a pretty important type of machinery in modern society.”

“How far down this time?” Tommy asked.

“I think this one goes six kilometres, roughly three and a half miles.”

“And the one we travelled by earlier?” asked Pietros.

“That one was actually rather short, only a thousand feet or so.”

“For what purpose would one want to travel that deep?”

“To keep our existence secret,” answered Justin, as the doors slid open. 

The car itself was enormous, looking like it could hold several dozen people easily. It easily matched the decor of the theatre.

“This is truly astounding magic,” said Miraak, as they all piled in.

“In this case, yes, it's completely magical. We could quite possibly make hardware and so on to make it work without, but that would make for complications,” Justin explained, as he pressed one of the few buttons on the panel inside. He then pressed his thumb up against a small pad, resulting in a soft 'ping'.

“Security requirement. These guys were nice enough to give me temporary clearance, so—“

“We'd best be on our best behaviour,” said Mazhe, smirking. The car lurched, and both gladiators suddenly felt as though they were falling rapidly.

“You'll get used to it.”

Justin wasn't kidding. The ride itself took several minutes, even though it was accelerated by magic. The car at last came to a stop, and with another audible 'ping', the doors slid open. Two individuals were waiting on the other side. Harry guessed they were security guards.

“Credentials or passes, please,” said one.

“Justin Fraser, and these are all in my party. Show your passes, guys.”

“Welcome, Doctor,” said the other guard, as he glanced at his credentials.

From there, they got a ride to the lab on something akin to a golf cart, save for the fact it could carry more people. In the process, the group all got an idea of the vastness of the facility. It was truly colossal.

“And I thought Ragnar was big,” said Harry, as they at last arrived at the lab Justin was working in.

“Cisco is one of the larger facilities,” said one of the guards, as he held open the door for the group, “Though I think our facility near Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe might be a bit larger.”

“Right. Come on guys, this way,” said Justin, as they entered the lab.

“Uh... what are they doing to the T.V.?” Tommy asked, his eyes having instantly found the flat screen device. A number of technicians were working around it, one of them with a wand drawn.

“This is where magic meets technology,” Justin answered, “This is where we do some pretty amazing things. They could be doing just about anything.”

Harry could only nod, as his eyes took in the room. A work bench in the next cubicle had a component stereo partially disassembled, while a technician was casting some sort of charm on one of the pieces. The next featured a power recliner that was up to this point still in one piece, slowly reclining and resetting, as a pair of technicians observed.

This went on across a number of cubicles and workbenches, until they at last arrived at a larger work bench at about the middle of the lab.

“Dr. Fraser,” one of the technicians greeted.

“Angela,” Justin greeted.

“These guys are your test subjects?”

“Well, uh, I don't think they appreciate being called that, but... yes, they're willing to help us test out the new prototypes. This is Harry, Tommy, Mazhe, Miraak, Spartacus, and Pietros.”

Angela and the other technician both arched an eyebrow at the mention of the famous gladiator. After all, only a very few people had any clue of the Commonwealth's connections to other worlds—or other times.

Justin caught the look, and added, “They are covered by the security and confidentiality agreement, no one can know they are participants.”

“Of course, doctor.” 

She opened a cardboard box, and pulled out a mobile phone.

“These are probably not as nice as the phones you may have now, but we didn't want to waste time and spell work on something only to have it blow up in our face.”

“Why do I need a new phone?” questioned Mazhe.

“If you'll let Angela finish...”

“These phones are being used to test a new feature that we'd like to add to the mobile system. You're all aware of the emergency port key feature, of course.”

“Life saver two years ago,” said Harry.

“The Triwizard tournament,” Angela remembered, “Among many examples of how vital and useful the feature is.”

“An extension of my research doctorate was the expansion of that feature,” Justin picked up, “The ability to port key to any number of pre-programmed locations.”

“Such a thing would have been useful a while back when Harry's distress letter arrived. We were all in Solstheim,” said Mazhe.

“To see that actually work, would be an incredible feat,” Harry agreed, “And I'm guessing that's where we come in.”

“Exactly,” said Justin, “We're all going to get experimental phones, with the idea that we all try setting destinations, travelling to them, and so on. That means, someone sets a destination, and we all try using the phone to travel there.”

“It will equally work for us?” asked Pietros.

“By all accounts, it should. You are non-magical?” Angela questioned.

“No—I mean, yes, Domina.”

Angela looked confused a moment, but then simply nodded.

“Pietros, you belong to no one here, not even to me,” said Harry, kindly, “Miss, or ma'am would suffice.”

“I will try to remember.”

“Right. So we should stick together for now,” said Justin, as the other technician brought out another box. “Each of you grab a phone, and we'll start with the basics...”

The first part of the afternoon was spent with Justin and the technicians explaining how the new feature worked. The phone's owner could tell the phone to record the current location. The phone would even record a snapshot of the location for easy reference later on. The phone could remember hundreds of locations, accessed much like accessing the phone's address book. Travelling to a location was as simple as opening up the list of recorded places, and making a selection. The phone then functioned exactly like a port key, carrying the owner and any passengers.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with the group testing the phone out, travelling to various places with it and so on. They took a conventional port key to the Ragged Flagon, where everyone programmed the location. Then it was Pietros who recalled the lab's location on his borrowed phone. Then Harry set a port key to the College of Winterhold—though they stayed for a short while to briefly touch base with a few people. Arch-mage Tolfdir was very much impressed with phones, and was more than interested in obtaining one once it was proven stable.

The next stop, thanks to Justin, was the Ragnar, or more specifically, the suite they used. It was still configured for their use. Neither Harry or Tommy were all that impressed, and were only thankful when Spartacus activated the choice on his phone, taking them back to the lab.

Harry's choice dropped them just outside of Hogsmeade. Justin arched an eyebrow as they looked around, but he shrugged, answering, “Outside the Commonwealth but still here in my own world, right?”

“A fair point. Should we try Diagon Alley?”

“No. Not today,” said Harry.

Destinations set back to Spartacus and Pietros' time were also more than successful, though once again, Justin had no doubts that would work—it was identical to setting locations in Skyrim. The magic was being funnelled through the portal, and as long as it remained open, everything would work.

As it neared dinner time, they returned to the lab one last time. Surprisingly, Angela only asked for Spartacus and Pietros to return their phones, given they were only visitors.

“Uh, actually, Pietros may keep his as well,” said Justin, “Harry has made arrangements for him to join us for good, once the department completes its research into the portal opened into their time period.”

“Very well. I do have to again emphasize, be very careful who knows about this technology. As it stands right now, they circumvent just about every security protocol put in place. Given the security of your group, the government will still permit you to keep them and continue to test them, the stipulation that you give us feedback on performance,” said Angela.

“The plan is to have these rolled into the next network update in the winter,” said Justin.

“That fast?” Tommy looked surprised.

“That's actually slow for us,” said the second technician, “This is just something we want to be sure absolutely works before we release it to wide use.”

“For anyone to have access to such a tool, it is astounding,” said Spartacus.

“Indeed. That's exactly what we have in mind.”

Harry glanced at his watch. “All right. Time we get back to Capua.”

This time it was Pietros who used his phone, and seconds later, they reappeared in Harry's chest.

“Harry,” said Varro, from where he was sitting on one of the couches, “Dominus wishes to break words presently.”

“Someone's in shit,” said Tommy, smirking.

“It'll be a temporary thing.” Harry smirked right back, reaching into his rucksack, and pulling out his invisibility cloak. “I'll be a minute or so. Uh, Justin, you can probably send word that we're ready for dinner now.”

“I'll look after it.”

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak about his shoulders, then pulled up the hood becoming completely invisible. A soft pop was the only indication he'd left.

“Astounding,” said Miraak, staring at the place he'd left from.

“That cloak's been in his family for generations, 'least as he's explained,” said Mazhe, as they collected around the table.

“The venture into your world, it was truly fascinating. Your magic has... much more variety than ours.”

“But your magic is in some ways stronger,” said Justin, as he scribbled out a note, “Never mind your abilities with your dragon blood.” He thought a moment. “That... uh, by the way... you should never mention your abilities outside the Commonwealth. It's considered creature blood, and there are a number of magical nations that frown on it.”

“Considering how backward-thinking Wizarding England is, I could see them being one of the largest culprits,” Mazhe snorted, as he watched Justin drop the note into the post box nearby.

“Try 'the largest'. Think of how Remus was treated a few years ago. Just a hint of his condition, and he resigned, just out of fear of the backlash. As it stands, Sir Malcolm Davis would hire him on the spot, if they had a vacancy on their teaching staff.”

Another soft pop announced Harry's return, and his head reappeared.

“Good thing I'm a 'good guy',” he smirked, “As far as Quintus knows, we've already had the conversation about... uh... he was in a twist about us borrowing Spartacus again.”

Justin furrowed his brows. “What did you do?”

“Confundus charm. What, you think I'd risk obliviating him? Pass.”

“And nothing further will rise from it?” questioned Spartacus, as plates of food appeared.

“Nope. Not a thing.”

“Gratitude.”

“No, thank you, both you and Pietros,” said Justin, “You guys are both purely non-magical, having very little exposure to it. Being able to use the phones proved part of the theory. Up until today, we weren't sure if the phones would work for someone who is completely without magic.”

“I was honoured to lend hands to purpose.”

“It would be a curiosity, to learn whether your devices would work from Apocrypha,” said Miraak.

“We could likely test it,” said Harry, “Although I strongly doubt Hermaeus Mora would appreciate us doing so. Access to his realm is severely restricted, and quite honestly, last thing I would want to do is piss him off. Like I said, I still need his assistance.”

“This... Apocrypha... the place from which the eyes come,” said Pietros.

“Yes,” said three voices.

“Hermaeus Mora,” said Mazhe. “You saw him, then.”

“Harry summoned him through the... one of those.” Pietros pointed to the bookshelf, where the pair of heavy tomes rested on the top shelf.

“You would do well to not open either of those,” said Miraak, “Reading from either could drive you insane.”

“Locked ward at St. Mungo's, here I come!!!” Harry exclaimed, making a crazy face. Miraak looked at him with a blank look, while Mazhe let out a snicker.

“Uh... okay then.” Justin only shook his head at his young friend's antics. “As it stands... it was a very productive day with the promise of nothing short of a technological and magical revolution.”

“Calls for a celebration, I think,” said Harry.

“Glad you're on the same page. If this goes ahead as planned, I'll be seeing a life-changing payout.”

“Not that you really care about that, doctor,” Harry smirked, as he summoned some glasses and a bottle of Ogden's Finest.

* * *

Harry was awakened in the very early hours of the next morning by the ward he'd erected many months prior. Something was approaching the property, magical in nature. Harry had fine-tuned it the night after the Commonwealth arrived, so they wouldn't inadvertently set it off, so this... whatever they were, they were likely unwelcome.

“Mazhe...”

“Huh?”

“We've got intruders.”

It took a half-minute for the pair of them to get up and throw on some clothes, before they woke the others. With sobriety draughts and hangover cures administered, they scrambled up the ladder and into Spartacus' cell. The man was still in a dead sleep, so Harry quickly woke him.

“What is the matter?”

“Intruders. We're about to wake the household. Hangover cure, and a sobriety draught.”

“Gratitude.” Spartacus downed both potions.

“Set to purpose then?”

“I am ready.”

Harry stepped into the square. “ _Sonorus_ . Action stations! Intruders approach on the road, action stations.”

Once again, like clockwork, the household came awake, thanks to the number of practice drills Harry had insisted on conducting. This time, the S.O.U. Members on watch at the portal also appeared, as did several Aurors. One of them was already on his mobile, likely summoning backup.

Unfortunately, there was barely time to get set up, as a group of black clouds of smoke flashed into being in the middle of the square. Harry remembered the technique far too well—it was the same method by which Voldemort's death eaters had arrived in the grave yard at the end of the Triwizard tournament.

Tommy didn't wait for them to reveal themselves, but unloaded a barrage of bullets into the first target. It dropped where it stood, the cloud dissipating to reveal someone wearing a black cloak that hid their features—not that it mattered, the pool of blood forming under them spelt their end.

The others, however, quickly dropped the smoke screen, and erected shields. Shields which effectively blocked non-magical bullets.

“My weapons have no effect!”

“No shit!”

“ _Mul... QAH DIIV_!” Miraak shouted, and the dragon aspect silhouetted his form. Mazhe quickly followed.

“Mazhe... other side,” Miraak directed. Mazhe gave a nod. “ _WULD_!” An explosion of sound sent him a streak across the square, as the intruders all let out blasts of red magic.

“PIETROS!” Harry shouted. Pietros ducked just in time, as a bolt of green magic sailed overhead and into space. Harry answered with an ice spike the nailed the caster in the side, causing him to snarl in pain. Vulnerable without a shield, Tommy pumped the injured intruder full of bullets.

“ _Fus RO DAH_!” Came Mazhe's shout, and with it, the sound of crashing glass as a shield was rendered useless, and another intruder was sent flying over the cliff.

“Hope the wanker knows how to fly,” Harry muttered.

This was the cue for the rest of the gladiators to storm the square, lending backup to the rest. Sure, the intruders were now well-aware of the household's much more disciplined defensive measures, but they counted on superior numbers of wands against the lowly non-magical residents. Surely, one magical couldn't be that difficult?

What they hadn't counted on, was the additional magical members that had somehow arrived on scene. And what sort of magic was that, so powerful that only their voices had sent one man to his death?

“Retreat! Fall back!” one of the intruders shouted.

“ _Fo KRAH DIIN_!” Came Miraak's shout, and another intruder found himself quite literally frozen. His last thoughts wished for warmth as the blood literally froze in his veins.

“ _Sonorus_. Intruders, leave this place and never return. Next time we promise to hunt each and every one of you to the ends of the earth if so required, to ensure a swift path to Oblivion. BEGONE!” Harry's words boomed across the residence.

At once, a number of the intruders again turned to smoke, and disappeared.

“And you think you have the means and the magic to stop us, little boy?!” one of the few remaining asked.

A purple arc of electricity answered his question, though the dark wizard easily side-stepped it.

“Why do you come here, to press us— _stupefy_!” Harry's spell narrowly missed another intruder who was tangled with Agron. The gladiator was giving the dark wizard all he could handle, and more.

A flash from the location of the portal brought activity in the square to a stand still, as a projectile sizzled across it, to impact another dark wizard making for the entrance to the villa. It exploded in a gory mess.

Spartacus, meanwhile, found himself in close combat with two intruders, and was being pushed to his limits. He'd certainly gone one on one with Harry a number of times... but against two? This was new, and frightening. No different than the arena, these monsters played for keeps. One spell connected, he was done. They were all dark curses, each of them leaving terrible evidence on the ground and the walls—one had actually melted part of the post that supported the overhang of the villa. He kept glancing around, hoping someone would see his predicament--

“ _Crucio_.”

**PAIN** . Pain pain pain. He dropped like he'd been shot, as every nerve in his body came alive with the sensory overload brought on by the dark curse. His body was on fire. PAIN. Pain. More pain. It was as if he were being flayed alive.

An explosion of sound brought an abrupt end to it, and Spartacus lay there heaving, as a body fell on top of him.

“He'll be going to Apocrypha, I think,” came Harry's voice, although it sounded like he were underwater.

“All right, mate?”

“I... n-n-no... pain... hurts...” Spartacus managed.

“HARRY!”

Harry wheeled to see a purple bolt of magic hurling toward him. A hastily erected shield absorbed most of it, but caused him to stagger.

“ _Fus RO DAAH_!” came Mazhe's voice, and the attacker was slammed against the gates of the square, and glowed, before crumbling to ash.

There were then only a few left of the fifteen or so intruders that had first stormed into the square. Two more vanished in a smoke trail.

“Perhaps you're stronger than expected, with the boon of allies. A thought to leave you with, then... know that we will meet again. The text proclaims it so. Good bye, light wizard.”

The rest of them popped away with black clouds.

“Justin!?”

“Eric... Gods... that was nuts.”

“We're code four,” said Brandon, into his radio, “Healers and Aurors through the portal immediately.”

Though Harry had half a mind to complain, he realized they did need as much help as they could get at this point. He gestured with a hand, pulling the unconscious body off of Spartacus, who still lay there, his entire body in spasms. Harry reached into his rucksack, and pulled out a bottle.

“Here. Anti-cruciatus draught. It'll help.”

“G-g-gratitude.”

“I'll help,” said Justin, kneeling, “I'll prop his head up, you help him drink it.”

“What is wrong with him?” Doctore asked.

“Exposure to the Cruciatus curse,” Harry answered, testily, “Worst sort of curse a wizard can cast on someone. It's pain—like every square inch of your skin is on fire.”

“He will recover?”

“Yes. A couple of days' rest—though that's still necessary as is, given his concussion,” said Justin, as they helped the gladiator to take the medicine.

“Let's move him to his bed.”

The damage to the square had not been as serious as last time, and there were only a few injuries to take care of. The intruders had once again not been able to penetrate the upper part of the villa, thanks to the rapid action of the guards. A pair of Aurors helped to improve the odds, though their participation was ultimately unnecessary.

As the sun was just beginning to cast its rays, and the extra manpower were retreating through the portal, Justin's mobile rang. The group were gathered in Spartacus' cell, the man in question resting comfortably on his bed.

“Dr. Fraser. Uh... WHAT? When? Okay, okay... how long?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and made an angry face. “All right... I'll tell him.” He hung up.

“Something's happened,” Harry guessed.

“Commonwealth's gone into red alert, activating a lock down protocol. We have to go. Now.”

“WHAT?!”

“Harry, I'm sorry. The Commonwealth is closing EVERYTHING. Both portals.”

“I...”

“You have to go,” said Spartacus, giving a sad smile. “Return to the place you belong. The Gods now will it so.”

“I just...” A sob escaped him in spite of his attempts to suppress it.

“Let them close it... they can connect with us again.”

“And it be years yet again before they do.”

“He's right, Harry. This time it could be a decade before they find us again.”

“But we'd be safe here... just like in Skyrim—“

“Where we'll be going. Now collect your chest,” said Justin.

Harry wiped his eyes, and went over to his chest, slamming the lid shut. A gesture from his finger reduced it in size so it fit in his pocket.

“You will pass on word to the others. I bid everyone farewell.”

“I will see it done.”

“I will remember each and every one of you. I hope all of you continue to work on the lessons I have shared here; they have saved your life numerous times already, and they will continue to save your lives in the future.”

“Harry... we have but minutes,” Justin prodded.

“Farewell, Harry.”

“Farewell, Spartacus.”

The pair shook by forearms, and the group hurried from the cell and across the square, to the now visible portal. Brandon and Eric stood at either side.

“We could just use the phones—“

“Disabled for now, the entire cell network is offline. Their calling me was one of the last made,” said Justin, “Come on.”

One after the other, Harry and his friends stepped through the portal, to arrive in the Magnus Chamber.

“All clear, Madam Guardian,” said Brandon.

“Shut—“

“Wait,” said Harry, forcefully, “We will be returning to the College of Winterhold immediately.”

“The portals are being closed—“

“A year passes, and I still have no desire to break words with you lot.”

“We are in lockdown, Mr. Potter. No one in or out,” said Brandon, gravely. Harry turned to him, giving him a look that would kill.

“ _Tahrodiis mey_. The transgressions of the office you align yourself with are well remembered. Now. The lot of us are leaving.”

Brandon moved to draw his wand, but Elaine shook her head.

“Really. The lot of you can piss off,” Harry hissed, “Mazhe, Tommy, Justin, Miraak... let us take leave of this place. I seek more-deserving company.”

Brandon looked on with a crushed look, as the group passed through the second portal one after another, Mazhe being last.

“Close it up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry discovers an extra passenger has returned with them to Skyrim; a meeting with the Greybeards sends both Harry and Mazhe to speak with their master, which results in a deadly confrontation with Alduin; a discussion in the chest much later results in unexpected visitors; and Harry is finally emotionally overwhelmed by the series of events which unfolded in short succession..._   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: I'd actually wanted to wrap up Harry's business with 73BCE about two chapters ago, when the Commonwealth first made the portal. However, things morphed into what is now presented._   
> _Now, question is, has Harry seen the last of his friends there? Equally important, what's sent the Commonwealth into a panic?_


	31. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry discovers an extra passenger has returned with them to Skyrim; a meeting with the Greybeards sends both Harry and Mazhe to speak with their master, which results in a deadly confrontation with Alduin; a discussion in the chest much later results in unexpected visitors;_  
>  and Harry is finally emotionally overwhelmed by the series of events which unfolded in short succession...

**31: OVERWHELMED**

**11 – 14 Hearthfire, 4E201**

* * *

Harry watched with a scowl on his face as the portal collapsed, leaving no evidence in the College courtyard that it had ever existed. He momentarily debated about remaining at the College for the time being, but then changed his mind.

“Best return to the Ragged Flagon for now, let Remus know what's going on.”

“It's your show, Harry,” said Justin.

Harry frowned again, then picked up a stone from the snow-covered ground. “ _Portus_.”

Moments later, they collected themselves off the ground, and after giving a wave to Syndis (the fletcher who had set up shop in one of the alcoves just outside the tavern), they entered Remus' apartment.

“You've returned rather early,” said Remus, surprised at the unexpected visit. His features darkened, noting the group's dishevelled appearance. “Something happened.”

“The Commonwealth was forced to close up both portals just a few minutes ago,” Justin explained, “For now, we're cut off, until they re-establish another portal.”

“What forced them to do so?”

“The villa was again invaded this morning by dark wizards. While we fought them off for the most part, one of them managed to sneak past security and travel through the portal back to Trevelyan,” Justin explained, “The individual was not seen until just a little while ago. In other words, they'd been in the Magnus Chamber for nearly two hours without being seen.”

“Bloody hell... most secure room in the Commonwealth, and someone that dark was wandering around without impunity?” Harry wasn't impressed.

“You see the problem. Far worse, they managed to vanish just after they were discovered, after murdering two members of the security team. It's still not known how they managed to escape, it's not possible to Apparate or port key from that room.”

Justin blew out a breath.

“Once they realized what was going on, well, you guys now know the rest.”

“How long before they will reestablish a portal?” Remus questioned.

“It could be hours, it could be days, weeks, months. Honestly, I can't tell you really.”

“It was unwise of them to just seal up the portal, considering we're a lot safer here than back in the Commonwealth. The Queen and vital government members should have been sent here first.”

“They have a set of protocols they follow,” Justin answered, “Sending her majesty here would have been against protocol.”

“And following protocol will sometimes end in disaster,” Harry said, with a scowl. “Either way, I plan on vanishing into the Virtual Projection Room for a few hours. Mental exercises that were abandoned this morning, I would see it corrected.”

The chest was quickly produced and expanded, then rested against the wall in the office, before they all piled in. And inside, Harry received yet another shock.

“All is well?” Varro questioned, seated at the table. Pietros sat across from him, as they ate breakfast, which awaited with a warming charm.

Harry wanted to bang his head against a wall. The blond-haired gladiator now stood in Harry's shoes, in exactly his circumstance as it had been a year prior. Isolated, over two thousand years into the future and into a strange world, with perhaps one person he knew. Sure, at this point he also knew Harry, but Harry was not of Varro's world. Far worse, in Varro's case, there would be no rescue, no one would come looking for him.

“Something has happened?” Pietros asked, seeing the dark look on Harry's face.

“We have returned to Skyrim and the portals have both been closed. We will never return to Capua,” Harry answered, practically falling onto one of the comfortable chairs. “One of the dark mages that attacked the villa earlier managed to enter the portal back to Trevelyan.”

“Would the guards have not captured him?” asked Pietros.

“The individual vanished almost instantly once he was discovered,” Justin answered.

“What if... they got their hands on one of our phones? What it sounds like,” said Tommy.

“I still have mine,” said Harry, easily locating his.

“And mine,” said Justin.

“I returned mine, if you will remember,” said Varro.

“I still posses mine,” said Miraak.

“I...” Pietros searched himself frantically. “It has escaped my grasp,” he said, alarmed.

“Pietros. Do not blame yourself. It's catastrophic, but... it's not your fault,” said Justin.

“Gods... whoever these dark mages are... he could go anywhere,” Harry realized.

“Not without the mobile network, the new protocol requires the network, just like the other features. They shut down the primary network just after they called me. Only a few mobiles still work at this point, the new phones not included.”

“And as soon as they re-enable it, they work again. Does the government know about that?”

“...no. Just my department, and the Arcane Sciences department.”

“Great. We have a terrorist mage from two thousand years in the past, in their possession an experimental port key device that can violate just about every protection ward in existence,” Harry muttered, “What about the Fidelius Charm?”

“Likely it would hold, Harry. You have to have knowledge of a place before you can get there, right?”

“What is a Fidelius Charm?” Miraak questioned.

“It's a secrecy charm put on a place or object, with someone being named a 'secret-keeper'. Others can know the secret, but only the secret-keeper can tell others about it. It's a very secure charm that under normal circumstances is nearly impossible to defeat—“

“Unless the secret-keeper is a bloody traitor,” Harry muttered.

“Yes, perhaps the only flaw in the charm. So no, the phones can't bypass that sort of security,” said Justin.

“Apologies. I did not mean—“ Pietros began.

“Pietros. We do not fault you. It could have been me in your place,” said Harry, gently.

“Thing is, it's done, right? You'll just drive yourselves crazy over-analyzing shit. C'mon, let's get cleaned up and move on with our missed exercises,” Tommy decided.

“Good plan,” Harry agreed.

* * *

That afternoon, with the others tied up with other activities, Harry created a port key which carried him back to the Skaal Village. The previous day's high had been tempered by that morning's terrible loss. He'd been forever severed from a group of warrior friends. Though he knew it would come eventually, it had been so sudden—so abrupt, there had been barely a chance to give his farewells. He knew Spartacus would do it for him, but it was still not quite the same.

Not to mention, there had been a few loose threads he'd not been able to tie up, namely the man they had captured. Of course, it was more than likely that Batiatus would see the intruder's end—likely rather painfully. But it was still not as satisfying as ensuring of it in person. Then there was the little blonde snake. There had been no 'insurance package' set up, since Harry had believed it not to be an urgent matter to deal with. In hindsight, that should have been included in the package he'd given to Spartacus.

Harry blew out a breath, and bundled up his cloak—being in Capua for so long, he'd forgotten how cold it was in Skyrim (or in Solstheim, for that matter). A strong warming charm saw him once again comfortable.

“Greetings, friend.”

“And find the greeting returned, Frea,” Harry answered, warmly, “ I seek the company of Sahrotaar. Might you have seen him?”

“He rests near the Wind Stone. You are troubled?”

“I am with heavy heart at the loss of many friends this day. I would take to the skies and leave _grotiin lor au golt_ —heavy thoughts on the ground.”

The walk to the Wind Stone was rather brief, and there, indeed, he found the serpentine dragon, perched on top of it.

“Hail, friend of _thuri_.”

“Greetings, Sahrotaar. If I could ask a favour?”

“You need only ask.”

“I would welcome your company as I take to the skies.”

The dragon lifted off a moment, to land a few feet in front of the young mage.

“Climb aboard, and I will be your wings.”

“Gratitude,” said Harry, as he climbed on. They took flight at once.

“Your heart is heavy.”

“Gods. The evidence is so easily read?”

“It is so.”

“As I said to Frea, I lost a lot of friends this morning.”

“In _grah—_ battle?”

“No. Thankfully and by small consolation, not so. But partly as a result. I am now forever prevented from visiting their place, their world. I wish with all my heart that this were false, but know it was an eventual outcome. I had wished for there to be more time, before I said farewell for the final time. But...” Harry sighed. “ _Tiid bo amativ_.(1)”

“Indeed it does. None of us can escape it, _dov_ or _joor_.”

Silence fell over the pair as they passed over the island. As much as Harry tried to think of other matters, it still came back to the events of that morning, a jarring, crushing blow to his emotions. Far worse, they'd accidentally brought Varro with them, and he would never return home. The attempt would likely land them years later. It had taken the Commonwealth a year to connect with him—though it had in reality only taken them hours. And really, the Commonwealth now had much larger issues than working to restore a portal. The dark wizard most likely knew how to use the phone's new port key features, considering how he'd just vanished from a room that was secured against port key and apparition. How would the dark wizard use it against them? That was the million-Septim question. No matter what, it would likely never end well.

His thoughts turned to the pressing issue in Tamriel: the return of Alduin. Perhaps that was the reason he'd been forced back. The gods wanted to ensure everyone stayed on the right path and all that rot. Harry truly feared for his mate now. An ancient prophecy was unfolding, with Mazhe right in the middle of it—no different than the prophecy in which Harry had a part to play in. Both of them had mortal enemies, with there being no guarantee of victory against either.

“How strong is Alduin?” Harry at last questioned. They had flown out over the Water Stone on Solstheim's west coast, and now circled back around.

“He is the first-born of Akatosh, Harry. He came before all of us. But his true power us unknown to me, since Miraak became my master before the first dragon war.”

“I truly fear for Mazhe. He is dragonborn, yet, Miraak carries far more power.”

“You underestimate the power of _dovahkiin_ , young mage,” Sahrotaar answered, “He is one all of us _dov_ have come to fear.”

“Because he can consume your very soul.”

“Yes. It is exactly because of that. With Miraak as a guide, your mate will only gain power. Though you and the rest of those around him need keep him on the path he is destined to follow.”

“And my friends do the same for me,” said Harry.

“Indeed, your connection with the demon of forbidden knowledge must be used carefully, lest you fall under his spell, such as Miraak did.”

“I'm always weary of having contact with him.” Harry thought for a moment. “Does Alduin have any sort of weakness?”

“There is one weakness, though it would extend to all of us, and I have only heard whispers of it. A _thu'um_ , capable of knocking one of us from the sky for a time. Dragon... rend.” The dragon seemed troubled even trying to say it.

“Dragonrend?”

“Yes. I do not know the shout, but perhaps, Miraak may know of it.”

“But... what about bend will? Would that work against him?”

Sahrotaar let out a chuckle. “Unlikely, young mage.”

They returned to the Wind Stone just as the sun was setting, and Harry thanked the dragon for the ride, before returning to Remus' apartment by port key. From there, he descended into the chest.

“Feeling better?” Justin asked. He was seated on one of the couches, his notebook computer open and a pile of notes scattered in front of him.

“Somewhat. Where's Mazhe? I've got some new information to share.”

“He's in the Virtual Projection Room with Miraak.”

“Right.”

“What kind of information?”

“A possible way to defeat Alduin.” Harry glanced around. “Where did Pietros and Varro go?”

“Working with Tommy. Mazhe took them into the training area in the cistern.”

Harry frowned. “I'm sure Mercer really appreciated that.”

Harry found Mazhe and Miraak working in what looked like a miniature replica of a room from Apocrypha. A large table was set up, containing a number of books, including the two black books the group had collected. One of them lay open, and Mazhe was reading from it, but both looked up hearing the door close.

“Dragonrend,” Harry said, simply.

Mazhe looked confused, but Miraak gave a nod.

“Hakon and the rest, they knew it. I, do not.”

“What does it do?” Mazhe asked.

“This I also do not know. Perhaps, we should speak to the Greybeards. I know things far beyond their purview, and yet... they also know many things beyond mine, perhaps this, being one of them.”

“Sahrotaar says the shout can knock a dragon out of the sky, ground it for a time.”

“Then it is a shout we must learn,” said Mazhe.

“It is after sunset. We will break words with Arngeir tomorrow after morning exercises,” Harry decided. “It is late to be calling on them today.”

“Gods, we've been at this all afternoon?” At that remark, Mazhe felt his stomach growl. “I think a good warm meal is in order before anything else.”

“Agreed. Leave the room as is, guys.”

For the first time in some time, the group, now nearly double its size, took a meal in the Ragged Flagon. A table had been enlarged with appropriate seating to accommodate, and Vekel welcomed the assistance of Dobby to put the meal together.

“So. Did flying around on the back of a dragon all afternoon clear your head?” Tommy asked. That got surprised looks from both Varro and Pietros.

“Somewhat. Sahrotaar was rather helpful, pointing us in the direction of a shout that may cripple a dragon. Though he had difficulty just saying it— _dragonrend_. It was as though, just the words frighten him.”

“There are truly dragons here?” Pietros dared ask.

“Very much so. All but a few—and only one that we know personally—are powerful enemies. A very long time ago, they ruled over this world, holding everyone in it as slaves. A number of very brave people stood up against them, and finally found a way to break free from them, and at least for a time, defeat the worst of them all: Alduin, the world-eater,” Harry explained.

“It now falls to me to stop him for good,” Mazhe picked up, “Much as Harry has a prophecy over his head, I now have one over mine.”

“But neither of you have to go it alone,” said Justin, “God, the pair of you grew up around me.”

“And you guys are pretty much family to me now,” Tommy threw in, “Not like I'll ever say I won't help.”

“A dragon though...” Varro seemed to think a moment. “It is only right that I lend hands to purpose, seeing as you saved my life not so long ago, Harry.”

“As I also lend hands to purpose,” said Pietros.

“Just be aware that, no matter what dangers you have faced on the sands of the arena, they will pale in comparison to the dangers you will face here in Skyrim. There are things far more dangerous than an opponent who bares teeth and draws steel.”

“A case in point,” said Mazhe, pointing to the three scars that marred his face. “An encounter with some of the _friendly wildlife_ here left me these.”

“Friendly and wildlife... those words shouldn't be used in the same sentence, when it comes to Skyrim,” Harry muttered.

* * *

It was the middle of the following morning before the expanded group at last took a port key up to High Hrothgar to seek out Arngeir. They found the elderly man in the courtyard, practising the _thu'um_ , his voice echoing across the grounds like thunder. For now, both Varro and Pietros were left in the chest.

“ _Dovahkiin_ ,” said Arngeir, bowing.

“ _Drem yol lok_ , Arngeir. I would introduce Miraak, another dragonborn.”

“Welcome.” Arngeir bowed again. “What brings you back to High Hrothgar?”

“We come seeking the shout that was used to defeat Alduin.”

Arngeir immediately looked angry. “Where did you learn that? Who have you been talking to?” he demanded.

“It was my doing, sir,” Harry answered, “I have broken words with Sahrotaar, a dragon ally. He spoke of a shout able to force a dragon to the ground for a time... though he did not know of the words themselves. He called it...”

“Dragonrend,” Arngeir finished.

“Sahrotaar was frightened just to speak its name.”

“It does not matter,” said Miraak, “Hakon and the others knew it. Tell us, Greybeard elder, are you able to teach us?”

Arngeir let out a sigh. “No, I cannot teach it to you, because its words of power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice.

“Sahrotaar _would_ be afraid of it, and for good reason. It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout. When you learn a shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you _become_ the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself.”

“So we find ourselves back at square one,” Harry muttered.

“Unless you have suggestions, Arngeir,” said Mazhe, furrowing his brows. This was not turning out anything like they'd planned. Didn't the Greybeards know everything when it came to the voice?

“To get the answers you seek, you must travel to the top of the mountain and speak to our master, _Paarthurnax_.”

“ _Paarthurnax_ ,” Harry sounded out. “He... he's a dragon.”

“Indeed,” said Arngeir, “He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege.”

“Then how do we get there?” Mazhe asked.

Arngeir looked very uncomfortable at the idea of letting the group go up to the summit, but realized there was little choice in the matter. Mazhe had been given the gift of the voice in order to defeat Alduin... and learning the 'Dragonrend' shout was part of the path. He let out a sigh.

“Only those whose Voice is strong can find the path. Come. We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax.”

A few minutes later, the rather large group was gathered near a set of steps that led up to an archway. Just beyond, lay howling wind from which the mere sight sent shivers down Harry's back.

“ _Lok_...” Arngeir whispered, and a series of letters etched themselves in the snow, casting an orange glow in opposition to the morning sun.

“ _Vah_...” another series of letters also etched themselves in the snow.

“ _Koor_...” A final series of letters appeared in the snow. Mazhe stepped onto the first set, and like they'd seen more than a few times already, a swirling mass of energy burrowed itself into Mazhe's chest. He moved on to the next word, while Miraak took his place, with an identical storm of energy burrowing into him.

As Miraak absorbed the last word, Arngeir spoke, “I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies. This is your final gift from us, Mazhe. Use it well.”

Mazhe again felt momentarily light-headed, feeling a surge of power burrow into him, and with it, came the knowledge of the three words he'd just absorbed: _Lok vah koor_ —sky spring summer. Taking a moment, he turned to Miraak. “Ready?”

“I am ready.”

Mazhe bowed as Arngeir did, and a surge of energy connected between the two dragonborn. Arngeir looked quite impressed, and somewhat awed. Up to that point, there was no indication the second man was truly dragonborn. Yet, seeing him learn the words and absorb the knowledge exactly as Mazhe had, all but confirmed it. Two dragonborn present at once in the same location. It was unprecedented!

“We'd best carry on, guys. Sooner we get the information we need, the sooner we can put Alduin to grass.”

“The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, but keep moving, and you'll reach the summit,” said Arngeir. Mazhe and Miraak were already climbing the steps to the archway.

“Ready?” Miraak gave a nod, and both shouted together, “ _Lok VAH KOOOR!_ ”

Their voices echoed like a crack of thunder, and the swirling storm of ice rapidly faded, revealing the pathway up the side of the mountain.

“Gods, I could get used to that,” Mazhe smirked, as the group moved onto the path.

“Our voices carry great power, Mazhe.”

“All right guys, don't let it go to your heads,” Harry smirked, then had to duck, as Mazhe flung a shock spell at him.

Though there were few difficulties as far as enemies were concerned, it was still a lengthy trek, and it was after lunch time before they at last reached the summit. Harry was immediately drawn to a strange spot where the air seemed to shimmer and distort, as though still influenced by the residue of a powerful spell.

“Guys. Look at this.”

“Gods...” said Justin, drawing his wand, “Truly powerful magic has been cast here. This... it has to be ancient.”

“A spell that would last that long? For real?” Tommy asked, arching an eyebrow.

“If the caster is strong enough, the magic can last indefinitely.”

“And a word wall—“

“There is nothing to learn from it,” said Miraak, “The words have deteriorated beyond legibility.”

“A repair charm—“

“Wouldn't work, Harry,” said Mazhe, shaking his head, “It's different magic.”

Their musings were interrupted by the beating of wings. As the group now knew what to expect, they weren't surprised as a dragon landed nearby, causing the ground to shake. He looked ancient, with tattered wings, and scales that had long ago lost their lustre.

“ _Drem Yol Lok_. Greetings, _wunduniik_. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my _strunmah_ ... my mountain?”

“ _Lok thu'um_ , master of the Greybeards. I am Mazhe, this is Miraak, Justin, Tommy, and Harry. We apologize for intruding, but we... Miraak and I... need to learn the _Dragonrend_ Shout. Can you teach us?”

“ _Drem_... Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the _dov_. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my _Thu'um_! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are _Dovahkiin_!”

Paarthurnax turned to face the word wall. “ _Yol TOOR SHUL_!”

A blast of fire threatened to turn the very stone of the wall a cherry red, was the ferocity of the blast. As the blaze subsided, the previously damaged word wall now contained unblemished, and readable text that Harry was quickly putting to memory.

“Words I have neglected to teach you, Mazhe. The fire breath shout,” said Miraak, as Mazhe approached the wall, and once again be inundated by a surge of magical energy.

“A gift, _Dovahkiin_. _Yol_. Understand Fire as the _dov_ do.” Another surge of magic connected with Mazhe, much as it had when Arngeir imparted his knowledge.

“Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as _dovah_!”

“You want me to shout at you?” Mazhe arched an eyebrow. The ancient dragon said nothing, and Mazhe huffed.

“ _Yol_!” A plume of fire exploded outward, to momentarily envelop the dragon. Rather than anger, though, the dragon was impressed.

“Aaah... yes! _Sossedov los mul_. The dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind.”

The dragon appeared to think a moment.

“So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a _joor_... mortal. Even for one of _Dovah Sos._ Dragonblood. What would you ask of me?”

“We need to learn the Dragonrend Shout,” said Mazhe.

“Ah. I have expected you. _Prodah_. You would not come all this way for _tinvaak_ with an old _dovah_. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin.”

“And you still have not answered our question,” said Miraak, “Do you know Dragonrend or not?”

“Miraak...” Mazhe hissed, turning back to Paarthurnax. “How did you know we came for Dragonrend?”

“Alduin _komeyt tiid_. What else would you seek? Alduin and _Dovahkiin_ return together. But, I do not know the _Thu'um_ you seek. _Krosis_. It cannot be known to me.”

“But... why?” Harry asked, confused, “Why can a dragon not learn words that were formed in his own tongue?”

“Your kind— _joorre_ —mortals – created it as a weapon against the _dov_... the dragons. Our _hadrimme_ , our minds cannot even... comprehend its concepts.”

“How might we learn this Shout, then?” questioned Miraak, furrowing his brows.

“All in good time,” said Paarthurnax, “First, a question. Why do you want to learn this _Thu'um_?”

“I like this world. I don't want it to end,” answered Mazhe, “It would mean not only my end, but the end of my friends, those I call a family.”

“ _Pruzah_. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next _kalpa_? _Lein vokiin_? Would you stop the next world from being born?”

“Perhaps... the next world will have to look after itself,” said Harry, with a shrug, “Our world, here in the present, is what truly matters.”

“Paaz. A fair answer. _Ro fus_... maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end. _Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis_. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer.”

Paarthurnax paused a moment.

“But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. _Krosis_. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the _Monahven_ \- what you name Throat of the World?”

“I—“ Mazhe began, but Justin cut in, “We don't know... but would it have something to do with the most unusual remnant of ancient magic over there?”

He gestured to the strange spot where the air seemed to warp with strange magical energy.

“This is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim. _Zok revak strunmah_. The great mountain of the world,” said Paarthurnax, “Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the Voice, brought Alduin to battle and defeated him.”

“Using the Dragonrend Shout, right?” Mazhe guessed.

“Yes and no. _Viik nuz ni kron_. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to... defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. _Ok mulaag unslaad_. It was the _Kel_ \- the Elder Scroll. They used it to... cast him adrift on the currents of Time.”

“You mean... bloody hell... they... they sent him forward in time,” Harry realized, “ _Meyye!_ Surely, they should have realized he would turn up eventually!”

“Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. Like you, young Harry, I knew better. _Tiid bo amativ_. Time flows ever onward. Indeed, one day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when.”

“How does any of this—“ Mazhe began.

“Wait. Harry. The Elder Scroll,” said Justin, “Paarthurnax, was this where they... cast Alduin adrift?”

“Indeed. Time was... shattered here, because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin.”

“Right there,” said Justin, pointing to the magical anomaly.

“And the scroll itself,” said Harry, reaching into his rucksack, and retrieving the scroll, “It... it would work like a time-turner.”

“You could cast yourself back to the other end of the time-wound. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it,” Paarthurnax finished.

“Wait. Wouldn't that be dangerous?” Mazhe asked.

“It... I think it would be exactly like viewing a pensieve memory,” Harry answered, “And really, unless you guys have a better idea, it's likely the best shot you have of learning the shout.”

Mazhe let out a huff, then snatched the Elder Scroll.

“If this kills me, I'm coming back from the afterlife to kick your ass.”

“The _Kel_ \- the Elder Scroll. _Tiid kreh... qalos_. Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. _Kogaan Akatosh_. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal. Go then. Fulfil your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs.”

And now, Harry noticed the air seemed to charge with energy, like the approach of a thunderstorm. Powerful magic was at work. Equally, now, Harry had a sinking suspicion of how he'd came to be in 73 BCE Capua. If the Elder Scroll could break time itself, surely a little bit of time-travel wasn't out of the question. How long had he carried that scroll in his rucksack now?

Mazhe, meanwhile, crossed the short distance to stand in the strange warp of air, then opened the scroll. He partially faded from existence, and froze in place for what seemed like several minutes. Nearing the five minute point, he finally became solid again.

“Well?”

“ _Joor Zah Frul._ ”

“Mortal Finite Temporary,” Harry translated.

Mazhe gave a nod, and focused on the ground. “ _Joor_ ,” he whispered, but it came out as a wave, imprinting the word in the snow, much as Arngeir had done much earlier. “ _Zah_ .” Another word appeared below that. “ _Frul_ ” the final word formed as Miraak absorbed the first.

Once Miraak had absorbed all the words, Mazhe immediately passed his knowledge, and just in time, as something cast a shadow over them, and the ground shook, as another dragon landed nearby. Harry had seen Mazhe's memory of the attack on Helgen, but he was still shocked and stunned by the ferocious appearance. The dragon was demonic in every way imaginable—Nirn's version of the devil himself.

“ _Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor_. My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, _Dovahkiin_. Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!”

“ _Lost funt_. You are too late, Alduin! _Dovahkiin_! Use Dragonrend! Bring him to _gol_!” Paarthurnax shouted.

Mazhe and Miraak made eye contact, and turned at once to face the demon dragon.

“ _Joor ZAH FRUUUL_!!!” Two cracks of thunder roared out from the pair of them, striking Alduin full on as he took flight, surrounding the dragon in a brilliant blue aura.

“ _Tahrodiis meyye! Meyus rot fen ni sav hi_!(1)” Alduin snarled, as he plummeted to the ground in a heap. He climbed back onto clumsy limbs, and let out a scorching blast of heat.

“ _Bombarda maxima_!” Harry snarled, sending an angry red bolt of magic toward the dragon. It struck him on the left wing, making him roar in anger as it blasted bits of scale off. Justin sent his offering, which made the dragon roar a second time—his voice coming out like a shriek.

“What twisted magic is this?!” Alduin snarled, then roared again in pain, as Tommy added his attack to the mix, courtesy of his MP5.

“Might want to try something bigger, mate,” said Harry, while Mazhe and Miraak both unleashed deadly shock spells on the beast.

Alduin roared again, this time letting out yet another stream of fire which narrowly missed Justin. Mazhe answered that with another shock spell.

“ _Alduin, ziil los dii du!”_ Miraak tried.

Alduin laughed out loud. “ _Meyye dovahkiin_ , I am far stronger than you can ever dream to be. _Nivahriin yirtte(2)_ will not work against—”

BOOM. Something exploded in the dragon's face, and he let out a mighty roar, before sagging to the ground, heaving.

“ _Meyz mul, Dovahkiin_. You have become strong,” he ground out, “But I am _Al-du-in_ , Firstborn of Akatosh! _Mulaagi zok lot_! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you... mortal!”

With those words, the black demon-dragon simply faded out of view.

Mazhe looked like he was ready to commit murder.

“What the... after all that, and he... he just vanishes?! What fucking purpose was that?!”

“Mazhe...”

“What?! Don't tell me to calm down!”

“And being all out of sorts will serve no useful purpose,” said Harry, “Just... let's think this out.”

A flap of wings came from behind them, and the ground shuddered as Paarthurnax landed.

“ _Lot krongrah_. You truly have the Voice of a _dovah_. Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory.”

“But it wasn't really a victory, though, was it?” said Mazhe, “He just up and vanishes!”

“ _Ni liivrah hin moro_. True, this is not the final _krongrah_ \- victory. But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle. Alduin always was _pahlok_ \- arrogant in his power. _Uznahgar paar_. He took domination as his birthright. This should shake the loyalty of the _dov_ who serve him.”

“The more important matter, is to know where the world-eater has gone, so we may have an ending to things,” said Miraak.

Paarthurnax seemed to think a moment before answering.

“Yes... one of his allies could tell us. _Motmahus_... But it will not be so easy to... convince one of them to betray him. Perhaps the _hofkahsejun_ \- the palace in Whiterun... 'Dragonsreach'. It was originally built to house a captive _dovah_. A fine place to trap one of Alduin's allies, hmm?”

Harry let out a snort. “Jarl Balgruuf will most definitely disagree with that course of action, Paarthurnax.”

“Hmm, yes. But Mazhe's _su'um_ is strong. I do not doubt that you can convince him of the need.”

Mazhe glared a moment, then sighed. “I guess then, we—“

“There is another option,” said Justin, “We can now ground a dragon with Dragonrend. But we can also bend one to our will—the Bend Will Shout.”

“The better question, then. How do we summon one of Alduin's allies to us?”

“I will ponder this matter for the night,” Paarthurnax answered, “Visit me come the morning, and I shall have the answer you seek.”

“If it is permissible, we would rest here,” said Harry, producing his chest, “We will be out of sight.”

“ _Hi wod valokein_ —you are quite welcome,” Paarthurnax answered.

Harry gave a bow of respect, before propping the chest against the nearby word wall. A press of a finger had it restored to proper size, and the group all climbed in.

Immediately, Harry retrieved his pensieve, so they could review the memory of the event. Both Pietros and Varro were invited to view it, since they were considered a part of the group at this point, and did need to know what was going on. Both of them were more than a little shaken after seeing the battle.

“Jupiter's cock,” Varro muttered, as they re-emerged from the pensieve.

“The very thought terrifies me, I still wish it to be but a dream,” said Pietros. Both of them looked like they were about to be ill.

“The memory of it was bad enough. Believe me, to actually be there it was far worse,” said Mazhe, “I believe I might wish to forget. Vekel's specials are in order.”

“And be in no shape for anything tomorrow—“

Harry glared. “Justin, fuck off.”

He summoned a bottle and a bunch of glasses from the small kitchen.

“Considering the hell we've experienced over the past couple of days, I believe we might be entitled to forget, at least for a time. However, I think we might keep to a vice that may be cured come the morning.”

A number of hours passed with an increasing haze of intoxication. Though they had not indulged in Vekel's powerful concoctions, firewhiskey still packed a powerful punch.

“How much did you get... when Paarthurnax and Alduin were speaking dragon?” Mazhe asked. He and Harry were crushed against each other on the couch, both their feet up on the small table.

“Uh... probably about half the words.”

“You should take lessons. I mean, Paarthurnax would be an expert—“

“Native speaker and all, yeah, that's true. But I don't wish to intrude—“

“Harry, I doubt you would. I could tell, he's lonely. Think about it. He's lived for thousands of years on top of this mountain, with very little outside contact.”

“I guess. But... I wouldn't do so until Alduin is dealt with for good.”

“And that will come. I feel it now, we are close to the final confrontation.”

“And know that, no matter what, I will fight by your side, Mazhe.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way, Harry. You do know—“

They were interrupted, as a body seemed to appear out of nowhere to land across both their laps. It startled everyone out of their haze, and weapons were instantly produced.

“Gods... It's... It's Crixus!” Harry realized, getting a look at the face. “But... he has lost years from his life. How...”

“He's near death, Harry. Get him on the floor so we can heal his wounds.”

“The portal was closed. This should not be possible,” said Justin, producing his wand.

“We will heal his injuries first,” said Harry, firmly, summoning the entire potions kit from the bathroom. “Sobriety draughts and healing potions.”

“Good thought.”

Once Harry had consumed a potion himself, he handed out the others, then turned his attention back to Crixus. It looked like he'd been through hell of some sort—a full-on battle, judging by some of the injuries. More healing potions, then.

“Gods... they got him good. Looks like a spear or something similar got him there,” said Tommy, pointing to a puncture wound on his lower right abdomen.

“That should be fatal, he yet lives,” said Varro, shaking his head.

“He'll survive. These healing potions are made with potent ingredients,” Harry answered, “My teacher was nearly a master. Help me turn him on his side.”

With the others helping, the injured man was turned on his side. With both Justin and Harry working, they were able to for the most part close up the most serious wounds.

“All right. Let's get him laid on his back. I will need his head propped up so I might feed him the healing potions.”

“We can lay him on one of the couches now,” Justin decided. A gesture from his wand lifted Crixus off the floor, and gently placed him on a vacant couch.

“I am still confused. Your portal is closed. How is it he still comes to us?”

“A question I would like an answer to as well, Varro. Answers that we will have to wait for, given he's in no state to speak of them. But I think we are all in agreement that another brother is returned to us safely, to be freed from whatever nightmare existence he was facing.

“During the time spent in Capua, it became one of my greatest wishes, to see all of you freed of the life you found yourselves in... to be granted the liberty to forge your own path in the world. To live for more than death to the amusement of others. At least for a few of you, that has come to be so.”

“It was so... for more than a few of us...” Crixus whispered, slowly opening his eyes. “We... owe you more than... you can ever know, Harry.”

“Crixus... just rest.” Harry knelt beside the couch. “Do you feel any pain or discomfort?”

“Nothing I cannot handle. Your hands again work wonders.”

“I'd like to have a look at your memories. Rather than you tell us about it, it would be better if we could just see things in the pensieve.”

“As you did with Spartacus.”

“Yes and no. Because he suffered a brain injury, the healer had to have a look at his mind. In your case, I will draw out the memory... if you will permit.”

“Just follow Harry's instructions. It feels a little funny, but it doesn't hurt,” said Tommy.

The next hours were spent in the pensieve, as Crixus had lots to show them, comprising of what seemed like hundreds of flashes, memories that covered perhaps two years since Harry and the Commonwealth's departure from Capua. It finally culminated in a terrible battle, wherein Crixus received the injuries they now found him with—the last image being the face of Naevia, his lover.

“I am truly sorry we weren't able to help you. Though I am glad to see you and Naevia were able to experience love and companionship absent the whims and restrictions of slavery.”

“You knew?”

Harry grinned madly. “I have ways of knowing things I shouldn't, Crixus. There were a lot of things I was aware of within the walls of the ludus and the villa... but you also know that it was not my place to interfere.”

“Oh... Harry, he might need another potion.” Mazhe pointed to a wound that had reopened on his left side.

“Gods... I do not feel it at all,” said Crixus.

“Pain-numbing potion. You shouldn't feel anything, at this point,” said Harry, “But you'll need another one of these. It'll help you heal. And if I'd had more of these when first I met you, you wouldn't have been laid out as long as you were.”

“Gratitude,” Crixus said, accepting the potion. He consumed its contents, and passed back the empty vial.

“Now, my friend—“

Harry had no chance to finish, as there came a thump, as a body materialized by the entrance, and collapsed in a heap.

“ _Mul_ —“ Miraak began to charge up a shout, but Harry held up a hand, recognizing a familiar face.

“Bloody hell...”

“Spartacus,” Pietros said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Gods... quickly!” Mazhe exclaimed, seeing a terrible pool of blood forming around the fallen man's torso. If Crixus was bad, Spartacus looked like death warmed over. His torso had been punctured in three places, those being the most severe of his injuries.

“Harry, we may not be able to save him,” said Justin, gravely.

“Then we must work quickly! The potions, all of them. I'll need your wand— _Petrificus Totalus_!”

“These are mortal injuries,” said Pietros, “Even your spells—“

“We can only try.”

“Harry, you do know of a few healing spells. Between the four of us, I'm sure we can do this,” said Mazhe, “The strongest healing spells we can. The magic will know what to do.”

“Justin, lend wand to purpose.”

“All at once?”

“It can only help,” said Mazhe, “It's like adding a boost to whatever spells we're already casting.”

“Remember back in our borrowed rooms at Hogwarts... when the bitch tried to evict us? It's the same thing. Wait... You guys cast the healing spells, I'll provide the boost.”

To those who were non-magical, it was fascinating, seeing the four mages at work. While Mazhe, Miraak, and Justin cast the strongest healing charms they knew on Spartacus, Harry cupped his hands together, simply pushing raw energy out, forcing it to combine with the spells being cast.

“Right. Healing potion. Help me prop his head up,” said Mazhe. Harry quickly did so, then gently pried the man's mouth open so Mazhe could administer the potion. Messaging the throat helped the potion flow into his belly.

“He still looks of death,” said Miraak, gravely.

“Yet still lives,” said Harry, “He needs only time and rest. The potions and the magic will do the rest.” He glanced at Pietros and Varro, who occupied the couch opposite Crixus. “We'll need to put him there.”

“This many people...” Justin seemed to think aloud, “We'll have to make some changes to the chest. Never planned on having this number.”

“And we're still not living in here,” said Harry, firmly, “We'll have to make a few extra rooms adjoining Remus' flat. Once all this horse shit with Alduin has been dealt with, we can think of building places near Remus' cottage.”

“We'll have to talk to the Jarl, but it's unlikely she'll have a problem.”

“This is true,” Harry agreed, gesturing with a hand, and levitating Spartacus onto the now vacated couch. Justin, meanwhile, gestured with his wand, vanishing the pool of blood from the floor. Within moments, it was as if nothing had happened.

“What becomes of us, now that we find ourselves in your company?” asked Crixus.

“Your lives are yours to do with it as you will,” answered Harry, giving a rare smile. “Though for now you all might wish to stay close to us, the decision is ultimately yours. Likewise, Pietros. I bought you from Batiatus, not for you to remain a slave, but for you to shed the binds of servitude. I can only hope you will make a life for yourself, find yourself a mate...”

“It was my desire... to do those things with Barca.”

“Ah. One further regret, of a set of events I was unable to prevent. That you would be forever separated.”

“B...Barca... never left the ludus... alive,” Spartacus whispered, opening his eyes, “Batiatus... murdered him.”

A storm of emotions crossed Pietros' face, before he stormed off.

“Perhaps not the most gentle way of breaking such news,” said Miraak.

“I'll look after him,” Justin offered, before he quickly followed the distraught young man.

“My words... come from clouded thoughts,” Spartacus managed.

“Do you feel any discomfort or pain?” asked Harry.

“None that are a concern.”

“Then I would like you to sleep. Here. A sleeping draught.” Harry produced the potion.

“G-gratitude.”

Harry helped him to drink it, and Spartacus grimaced at the taste.

“I know, it's terrible. Such are most potions. But it will help you to rest.”

Spartacus only smiled. “I find myself once again amongst friendly faces... though I had left others I called the same.”

“Just rest, Spartacus—“

“That is not my name.”

“Just—“

The man mustered a glare, being tired of being cut off. “It is Dardanos(3).”

“Dardanos, then. My orders. Both you and Crixus get some rest. We will break words later, and you can tell me all about the roads you have travelled since I departed your world.”

“I look forward to it,” Dardanos/Spartacus whispered, closing his eyes.

Harry huffed, then let out a sigh. “I think I will be following my own advice. Let us get some rest.”

* * *

Rest, however, did not come for Harry. How did the pair of men end up back in Harry's world—or at least, where Harry was? With the portal permanently closed, it should have been impossible. Never mind the unsettling events that continued to unfold in Skyrim—facing Alduin only hours earlier; the world-eater himself! It was truly a miracle none of them had been seriously injured in the encounter.

After what seemed like several hours of staring at the ceiling, he finally gave up. Careful not to wake Mazhe, Harry stood up, and donned warm clothes, before leaving his room. He quietly crossed the common room, and climbed the ladder to the outside.

He found Paarthurnax perched on the broken word wall.

“You are troubled,” the old dragon spoke.

“Many unfortunate things have befell us in the past few hours. I have lost trusted friends, _grah midrak lot vokul(4)_ , regained trusted friends but find them horribly maimed, one foot standing in the grave. I find my home being threatened with its end... a place I have grown to love since arriving here ten years ago.”

“ _Hi yah drem do hadrim_. You seek peace of mind.”

Harry let out a sigh. “Yeah... It is my desire. _Drem_... something I find difficulty finding in recent days. I know all too well the burden on Mazhe's shoulders, for I share a similar fate in the world that birthed me.”

Harry gestured with a hand, transfiguring some of the snow into a comfortable cushion, and sat down, making himself comfortable.

“In my own world, I face a monster that follows a similar path to Alduin. If given the chance, he would bend the world to his own will, stand above all others, and destroy any who are unworthy. What he does not see or understand, is that following such a path would only spell the end of our world.”

“How did you come to be in this world, then?”

“The people who rescued me from a... difficult life... when I was six... they had connected a portal to Skyrim. I lived at the College of Winterhold until I was eleven, after which I returned to my own world so I could begin my magical education there—a decision I now deeply regret, given the complications that have come of it. In hindsight, remaining at the College would have been a better path.”

“ _Vir lost grik miiraak wahlaan_ (5)—How was such a portal created?”

“Inadvertently, by my hand,” Harry answered, “Many years into the past, _suleykaar lahaal tholaar(6)_ was summoned from this world, into mine. Without it, the people who rescued me _fund ni agos(7)_.”

“You have manipulated the w _uldsetiid—_ currents of time.”

“ _Zuk fein gein tiid(8)_ , perhaps,” Harry answered, “My birth records may show that I have lived for sixteen years, yet, by such manipulations, I live closer to eighteen.”

“Indeed. Though... _pah truk koros fah dahrin_ —all things happen for a reason.”

“ _Paaz_ ,” Harry agreed, “Though I don't have to like it. And I grow tired of _unslaad krosis_. I was not brought into the world to be miserable—I deserve respite... a chance to be happy again.”

“ _Tiid bo amativ_ , Harry. _Hin krosis fen ni laat mahfaeraak—_ your sorrow will not last forever.”

“I... I can only hope that is true. I just...” The young mage at last collapsed with grief, the weight of things at last becoming too much for his shoulders to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Conversations are had with both Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar; Harry makes peace with the Commonwealth, realizing his anger was unjustified; an assignment from the guild puts Mazhe up against an unexpected threat; and Mazhe and the circle attempt to interrogate one of Alduin's allies, with deadly results..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Lots of dialogue verbatim from the game, here. Some of it adjusted to account for the presence of Miraak, and so on. Apologies for the number of footnotes, but most are dragon language translations—either Harry's words, or Alduin's. Paarthurnax tends to repeat dragon speech in the common language, so writing him is a little easier. Harry, meanwhile, in speaking with Paarthurnax, wouldn't clarify his words._   
> _(1) Tahrodiis meyye! Meyus rot fen ni sav hi! - “Treacherous fools! Your foolish words will not save you!”_   
> _(2) Nivahriin yirtte – “cowardly tricks”_   
> _(3) Dardanos – Of course, no one truly knows Spartacus' true name. It's not even definitively known exactly where he came from. I chose the name from wikipedia's list of Dacian names. I figured that, now free of his world, he would want to set the record straight. Perhaps, he might've done so much sooner with Harry, but I can also argue that, in his world, he was still bound by servitude, and 'setting the record straight' wasn't exactly a priority._   
> _(4) grah midrak lot vokul – “battled against great evil”  
>  _(5) Miiraak—don't confuse this with 'Miraak'. The two words mean different things. Miraak means 'allegiance guide', while miiraak means 'portal'._  
>  _(6) suleykaar lahaal tholaar – “powerful magical artefact”_  
>  _(7) fund ni agos –“would not exist”_  
>  _(8) zuk fein gein tiid -- “More than one time”_  
>  _Thanks to thu'um.org for loads of information on the dragon language. It's been indispensable for translating stuff that isn't in canon. I should note that, the dragon language will crop up more often from here on out, considering Harry now knows two dragons. Both of them would be more than willing to teach ;-)__


	32. World Eater's Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Conversations are had with both Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar; Harry makes peace with the Commonwealth, realizing his anger was unjustified; an assignment from the guild puts Mazhe up against an unexpected threat; and Mazhe and the circle attempt to interrogate one of Alduin's allies, with deadly results..._

**32: THE WORLD-EATER'S BANE  
14 - 15 Hearthfire, 4E201**

* * *

Harry couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep, but as he came awake, he found himself warm and comfortable. Ah, of course. The old dragon had provided shelter among other things—a sympathetic ear as the young wizard had laid bare the problems he faced.

Now in the light of day, his chest and his shoulders felt a little lighter, the invisible burden being lifted, at least temporarily. He had come to several realizations that morning... one of which being, he owed a few people an apology.

Justin had been nothing but a friend—one of Harry's closest, strongest allies—virtually since he'd first become Harry's primary tutor and instructor. He most certainly didn't deserve to be kept at arms' length, such as had been the case since the 'betrayal' in June.

In fact, the Commonwealth as a whole, had really done nothing wrong toward Harry. Outside forces had caused the terrible incident in 2004 which caused so much destruction. Brandon and Eric had also been nothing but friends, keeping watch over Harry and his circle when he'd been at Hogwarts in 2004, then again when he was held prisoner there in the fall of 2005. The hate and anger toward them was unjustified. As soon as the Commonwealth reconnected itself with Skyrim, there would be a few matters he would correct.

“Harry... gods, you were out here all night?” Mazhe questioned. Only his head and shoulders were visible, poking out of the chest, which still rested against the broken word wall.

“Well, not all night. I needed some time to think, and I found a sympathetic ear as I contemplated a few matters.”

“And mine was unsuitable?” Mazhe asked, as he climbed out of the chest.

“A new set of eyes see matters from a different perspective.”

It was then that Paarthurnax opened his eyes. “ _Til los vahzen ko ok rot_ . There is truth in his words,  _Dovahkiin_ .”

“ _Drem yol lok_ , Paarthurnax. Gratitude for lending your ears to my heavy heart this morning.”

“You are quite welcome.”

“Harry—oh, there you are. Would've been nice had you let us know where you went,” said Justin, as he too climbed out of the chest. “Good morning, sir.” He inclined his head at the ancient dragon.

“Are the others awake?”

“Miraak is in the Virtual Projection Room, while Tommy is with the others in your room. Crixus is nearly healed, but Spartacus—I mean, Dardanos, he's still out of it. We'll probably want to keep him off his feet for the next day or so.”

Harry nodded and gave a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

“You look in better spirits. What happened?”

“Outside eyes and ears help me to see a few matters differently. To that end, there are a few mistakes I have made that I intend to correct presently. Justin, I make apologies for the manner in which I have treated you since you returned to us earlier in the summer. You've been nothing but a friend, undeserving of the distant treatment and barred teeth.”

“Harry...”

“No, allow me to finish. I have come to realize, I place fault in the wrong place—you, Brandon, Eric... _nid do hi lost trah zey_ —none of you have grieved me... and yet I treat you as such. I lay the fault at the feet of whoever is responsible for putting _tahrodiis stig_ —that treacherous act—in motion... not Valicadia, a place that has had my best interests at heart since I was first rescued from the Dursleys.”

“There are a lot of people who will be glad to hear that, Harry. Will and Alice both knew you would come to that realization eventually. Though, don't be hard on yourself. We all have our judgement clouded sometimes.”

“And clouded thoughts can only lead to ruin,” said Harry. “Now the next matter will be to convince Tommy.”

“He will need time. Considering he was affected most directly by the incident, he's still partly ruled by his emotions when it comes to the matter. He'll come to realize the same thing you have.”

“He'll still have to know my changed opinion on matters, and I fear he will take it badly.”

“He's a true friend. He's not gonna take off just because you have a difference of opinion on matters. I'm sure he'll have something to say about it, but...”

“Right.” Harry blew out a breath. “There will be time to visit such matters in the future. We have more pressing matters at the present... such as how to summon one of Alduin's allies.”

“Hmm, yes,” said Paarthurnax, “I have been pondering on exactly that question, as you were at rest. _Lingrah morah_. I have tasted the voices of Alduin's allies on the wind. _Pogaan nahlaas, vokrii wah jun(1)_. There is one who I remember well. _Odahviing_. He is the one to tell us where Alduin has gone.”

“So we know his name. How will that help draw him to us?” Mazhe asked, doubtful.

“Ah, I forget how little you know of the _dov_. Our names are always made up of three _Rotmulaag_ \- Words of Power. You see - _Paar-thur-nax_ \- a _Thu'um_ \- a Shout, yes?”

Mazhe still looked doubtful. “But... why would he come to us though?”

“He is not compelled to come, but the _dov_ are prideful by nature. Few could resist such a challenge. Especially from you, _Dovahkiin_. But Odahviing, he is... headstrong? _Boziik_. Rash. Even among the _dov_ , he was known for this. He will not resist the challenge of your Voice, _Dovahkiin_. He will come. Now - hear his name. Odahviing. Taste it on the wind. _Od-ah-viing_. Know it in your _su'um_. _**Od-ah-viing**_! ”

Mazhe could feel the words imprint themselves in his inner conscience as though they had always been there: Snow-hunter-wing. He gave a bow of the head.

“Thank you for your help. I can only hope that he will have the answers we seek.”

“Trust your instincts, they will lead you where you must go,” spoke the ancient dragon.

An interruption came in the form of two mobiles ringing; first Justin's, and then Mazhe's. While they went off in two separate directions to handle their calls, Harry thought for a moment.

“Paarthurnax... um... would it be possible if I might spend time with you? I would like to become more fluent in your tongue.”

“It has been many years since I have taught one of your kind my language. I would be more than willing... and perhaps, we might see if you may learn a little more than to just speak it. You are aware that one does not have to be _Dovahkiin_... to learn the _thu'um_.”

“Of course. Arngeir and the others... they are masters of the _thu'um_ , but yet are not blessed with the inborn gift, such as Mazhe or Miraak. But... that sort of thing, it isn't something that is learned overnight.”

“No, Harry, it is not. _Waan hi fenvon wah doj, zu'u fenvon wah mind_ —If you are willing to learn, I am willing to teach.”

“I would like that very much.”

He glanced over just as Mazhe rejoined them.

“Uh, Harry... Delvin just gave me a priority assignment. A client in Rorikstead is paying a lot of coin for a recovery.” 

Mazhe made a finger gesture on the small screen of the phone, which caused it to enlarge to the size of a notepad. Another gesture produced a map.

“The client thinks the thieves took the item here.” Mazhe pointed to a spot on the map. “It's called Broken Fang cave.”

“And that was Guardian Elaine,” said Justin, “They've just reopened the portal at the College. They'd like to come through and meet.”

“Go,” said Mazhe, “I think I can handle a few bandits.”

“Call us if you need help,” said Justin, “We can port key to your location with the phones, remember.”

“Be safe, we'll meet up at the College,” Harry suggested.

“Sounds good.”

After collecting the chest, the group first port-keyed to Rorikstead, since it was Justin's mobile that contained the address. There, Mazhe parted ways with them, heading back east. Harry and the rest of the group, meanwhile, port-keyed back to the courtyard at the College. Sure enough, the large blue gateway was once again present, and a pair of S.O.U. Members stood watch. Harry didn't recognize either of them. On sight of the group, one of them pulled out a mobile of his own, and punched in a number. The call was connected almost immediately. “Yes. They're here... yes ma'am.” He hung up.

Only seconds after, another pair of S.O.U. members stepped through the gate, immediately followed by Elaine, Will, and Alice. Immediately following them, came Eric and Brandon. Harry gave an incline of the head.

“I once again welcome friendly faces. Has the matter involving the dark mage been resolved?”

“We have taken some steps, but he still remains at large,” answered Elaine.

“The mage made off with one of our experimental phones,” said Justin, “As much as I'd like to stay and chat, I need to get back to the Arcane Sciences division so we might limit the phone's use.”

“Go then. We'll be here at the College for the time being, but you can certainly get in touch with us if not,” said Elaine.

Justin squeezed Harry's shoulder, before vanishing through the gateway.

“You look in better spirits than when we last spoke, Harry. Something has changed?”

“I have broken words with one who carries much more age and wisdom than I do—one who has likely forgotten more than I will ever witness across my lifetime. He helped me to see things from a different angle. Madam guardian... Eric... Brandon... Apologies for the anger thrown in your direction these past few months. My judgement was clouded by anger and _fraan tahrovin_ —perceived treachery.

“The Commonwealth of Valicadia has been nothing but _fahdon ahrk jaariliik_ —a friend and a protector to me, and though terrible things happened a year—nearly two years ago, those things are not the fault of the Commonwealth. I owe all of you a debt that can never be repaid—and righteous anger is not an appropriate—“

“Harry. You had all the right in the world to be angry. We knew that. Perhaps, we should have warned you of the findings... considering we were informed a few days before they were actually made public. But it is done and over, and all we promise, is to find those responsible.”

“Mrs. T. was absolutely livid about the findings—never mind Her Majesty! An entire platoon of our guys, subjugated into doing the bidding of some dark wizard,” said Eric, his face barely masking his anger.

“Was it Voldemort?”

Brandon scowled. “We don't know. The bastards were clever enough to cast a Fidelius Charm on the memories of the men.”

“A Fidelius Charm cast on just memories? Gods... didn't think that was possible,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Uh... let's go to my rooms, they're still set up for our use.”

“As good a plan as any,” said Will, as they started to cross the courtyard, “Where is Mazhe?”

“Off on an assignment for the Guild,” Harry answered, “All he said, was a client was paying a lot of money for the guild to get something back for them. He'll join us once he's done.”

“And Tommy?”

“Inside the chest, along with Miraak, Pietros, and a few others. A strange incident happened not long after you guys closed the portal,” Harry answered.

“What sort of incident?” Elaine pressed, as Harry pushed open the doors leading into the Hall of Attainment.

“Both Crixus and Dardanos—I mean, Spartacus... ended up in the chest this morning.”

“Hmm... that should have been impossible, Harry,” said Elaine, as they entered Harry's set of rooms.

“What I said,” Harry agreed, “But they both arrived bearing terrible injuries—Dardanos almost died anyway, or would have, without some strong spell casting. He's still recovering.”

“Dardanos?”

“It's his real name. He was more than adamant we know.”

“What were his last memories before he was brought to you?”

“About to be killed by Marcus Crassus—a powerful Roman general, if my history is right.”

“Indeed. Then it would appear his return to you has no consequences for us,” said Elaine. Relief was quite evident, as she took a seat at the large round table.

“I was equally relieved, madam Guardian,” said Harry, “I know all too well the importance of not meddling with the _wuldsetiid_ —currents of time. I believe that, since time was done with them, they had fulfilled their destinies, they were allowed to once again join me here—and with it, gain the promise of better things. Likewise, I have dear friends returned to me.”

“Their destiny may yet lie here,” said Elaine, “Do remember that, three of those who participated in the ritual that brought the Orb of Magnus into our world... are now present with you once again—“

“Actually, all of them are here. When I entered the chest, I found Varro had remained there from the previous nights' events.”

“You prevented his death during that boy's birthday party, if I remember correctly,” said Brandon.

“A situation of his purpose already being filled. So fate found a different way of removing him from the equation—though luckily it did not result in his death,” said Elaine.

“Speaking of my chest...” Harry produced it, and set it down in its usual spot—directly beside his bed. He pulled the lid open. “Tommy! A word?”

Moments later, the man in question climbed out of the chest. He scowled, seeing Eric and Brandon present.

“I see they connected up with us again.”

“Just let it be for now,” said Harry, “Justin's returned to... well, I guess he's gone back to the lab in San Francisco to deal with the security breach.”

“Tommy. We understand your anger. We're all just as angry that this kind of thing happened. Her Majesty demoted me just for the hint of involvement—which I swear to all things holy, I most certainly did not have anything to do with what happened to you or your family,” said Brandon. “There were a lot of furious people when that report came out in June.”

“So who did it then? Who answers for the shit I'm still dealing with two years after the fact?”

“All we know for sure at this point, it was a terrorist organization. They subjugated our guys... and the frustrating thing is, whoever did it, they covered their tracks too well. Tommy, quite honestly, we may never know who did it, or how.”

“They put Fidelius Charms on them. You remember us talking about that, right?” Harry reminded him.

“Yeah.” Tommy blew out a breath, frustrated.

“Just realize, the Commonwealth wouldn't order an operation like that. Gods, putting so many innocent lives at risk—no, that wouldn't ever get off the drawing board,” said Brandon. “Now quite honestly, we were looking to recruit you for exactly the role you find yourself in—just not at the cost of your family.”

“We would have paid handsomely,” Elaine picked up, “Along with most of the privileges you have now.”

Tommy let out a sigh. “I guess... I guess that makes sense.”

“And you did gain a different sort of family,” Harry pointed out, “And I gained a big brother.”

“I thought that was Mazhe,” said Will, confused.

Tommy snorted. “Yeah. Until they started sleeping together.”

That got a scandalous look from both Will and Alice. “And when did this happen?”

“When you guys opened a portal to the villa in Capua. I... err... sort of let my feelings out of the bag, and Mazhe wouldn't let me just hide them again. I mean, it's not been all that long, but... I guess it was the natural progression.”

“And sleeping—“

Harry frowned and muttered something incoherently. “Can't believe you brought that up...”

Tommy, meanwhile, couldn't help but smirk at Harry's discomfort.

“Y'know, there was the night we were... what's the word... snogging?”

“Yeah, thanks to my deviant boyfriend! Never mind the fact he had pleasure in doing it also! Gods, this is just not the proper conversation about now.”

“I can agree with that,” Tommy muttered, “I've got no interest in what you two might be doing... though sometimes you guys forget to use silencing charms, and the entire flat knows...”

Harry glared at Tommy. “Thanks for sharing that.”

Will and Alice, meanwhile, had a tough time hiding their amusement.

“Harry,” Will finally said, “You're an adult now, on paper, and pretty much now by physical factor. We can have Healer Ferris do an age test to confirm it, but physical maturity is at seventeen.”

“What's that gonna mean, exactly?” Tommy asked.

“Inheritance,” Elaine answered, “Early Adult Rights only granted him partial rights—mostly protected him against people trying to control him and so on. Matters such as family inheritances and so on only go into effect with physical maturity.”

“It means I can finally see what mum and dad left for me. I only gained partial access to the family vault when I was granted Early Adult Rights. The money means very little—my place in the Guild has earned me a small fortune as it is—but the other treasures they may have left behind... those will be priceless. Journals, maybe... photographs... family heirlooms.”

“The reason you went back to Hogwarts for your second year, rather than telling Dumbledore to fuck off,” Tommy remembered.

“For exactly that reason, yes.”

It was then Harry's mobile rang. He pressed a button to connect the call.

“Mazhe?”

“ _Harry... gods... need help at once. Potions... healing potions... potion of Cure Disease... get here quickly_!” The call disconnected.

“Mazhe?” He put the mobile away. “Bloody hell... Mazhe's in trouble.”

“Go. We'll continue when you get back.”

“Brandon, Eric. I would welcome your wands and eyes once again,” said Harry, as he slammed the lid closed on the chest, caused it to shrink, then pocketed it.

“We have your back,” said Brandon.

“Where we going?”

“If Mazhe's still where he said he was going, it's a cave. We're using my mobile to get us there.”

“Mobile?” Eric looked confused, while Brandon looked baffled.

“Just gather around. It's one of Justin's new toys.”

Both S.O.U. members glanced at Elaine, who simply gave a nod.

“How's it work?”

“Grab on my arm,” said Harry, “Like Tommy's doing.”

Once Brandon and Eric had grabbed onto Harry's arm and shoulder, Harry activated his mobile, flipping through a list of names. He chose Mazhe's, then pressed the icon at the bottom of the screen labelled 'PK TO'. They vanished in a blur of limbs.

They landed a moment later at what was clearly the entrance to a cave. Mazhe was nearby, slumped up against a boulder, looking more dead than alive.

“H...harry... thank the nine.”

“What happened?” Harry was by his side in an instant, digging through his rucksack for healing potions.

“They... th-th-they weren't bandits.” His mate was shaking like a leaf, looking deathly white. “V-v-vampires. P-powerful vampires.”

“Here. Potion of Cure Disease, and the strongest healing potion I've got.”

“Thanks. Life-saver, Harry.” 

Mazhe popped the cork on the healing potion, and downed its contents, passing back the empty bottle. Almost instantly some of the colour started to return to his flesh, while he opened the second bottle. He still waited a few moments before consuming the contents, also returning the empty.

“Okay to stand?”

“I... let me rest just a few minutes.”

“Were you able to find the item the client lost?”

“Have a look.” 

Mazhe reached into his own rucksack, pulling out an ornate amulet. He was no longer shaking, as the potions quickly did their job. “Fortifies all resistances by twenty five percent. I'd guess it to be worth five or six thousand septims.”

Harry was confused. “Six enchantments? I thought it was only possible to put one, maximum of two enchantments on something.”

“Depends on the enchanter,” Mazhe answered, as he put the piece away. “A master enchanter... he could probably do just about whatever he wanted.” He climbed to his feet, and Harry put his arm around his shoulder to support him.

“W-we need to get back to Riften so I can turn this in. Where... is Guardian Elaine waiting?”

“Yeah. She knows we came for you. It won't hurt if we're a few minutes longer,” said Harry, “You... sure you're all right?”

“Still feel a little off... but they were vampires, Harry. I wouldn't expect anything to sort out the damage with any speed. Trust me, I'll be fine. Let's get back to Delvin so we can then return to the College.”

Less than ten minutes later, his satchel minus one priceless amulet, but a thousand septims richer, Mazhe and the circle again returned to the College and to Harry's rooms, where Elaine and the two social workers waited.

“Good grief, Mazhe, you look of death,” said Elaine, appraising Harry's mate.

“Vampires, Madam Guardian. Very nasty vampires. I ended up using all my healing potions, then a bunch I found in their lair, before escaping back outside to call Harry.”

“We can contact healer Ferris.”

“No, I think the extra potions Harry gave me were adequate.” He grinned, and flipped the hair out of his face. “Glad to see the Commonwealth return. Has the situation you were facing resolved?”

“Not to satisfaction. We are doing what we can to close the security breach. And as far as us being here, we have a few extra security precautions put in place within the chamber itself. Curse breakers have again modified the wards. A person must now be keyed into the wards before they can ever enter the chamber,” Elaine explained.

“How does that work?” Harry asked.

“A sample of blood. Mazhe, we'll require a sample of your blood so we may add you to the access list, given your relationship to Harry.”

“How much?”

“A few drops will do.”

Harry was already pulling out a small vial. “Hold out your arm... great.” He touched a finger to it, and a few drops of blood splattered into the vial.

Will was impressed. “Gods... wandless and non-verbal.”

“Come on, guys. Such things are a stroll in the park for me by now. I've finished most of my course load for grade ten, and level six magic. Justin wants to do a review and have me sit my exams, hopefully at the end of Hearthfire—September, I mean.”

He held the vial out, but didn't relinquish it when Elaine's hand closed around it. Instead, a single thin golden line of magic began to snake around their hands.

“Do you make the vow that this vial of blood will not be used in any other manner than to add my mate's name and essence to the wards protecting the Magnus Chamber?”

Elaine arched an eyebrow, but Harry gave her a hard look. “I will not have my partner's blood misused... or used against him.”

“I give my vow as asked.”

“So mote it be.”

A second swirl of golden magic bound the two hands, before Harry let go.

“What was that?” Tommy questioned.

“My time in Capua _zaknah pogaas fruk_ —was very productive. It was a variation of the unbreakable vow. This form only requires the two parties... and should the vow be _krent_ —broken, the one grieved has the choice of what consequence the violator shall suffer. Though I do trust Guardian Elaine, I feel I must protect family.”

“What would you do—“

“I won't get into that, Tommy, because I know I will never have to enact it,” Harry answered, his voice carrying an air of finality. “Realistically, I trust the Commonwealth to have our best interests at heart.”

Mazhe let out a snort, before parking himself in a seat at the table. “A direction completely opposite that you were travelling a few days ago.”

“A path that would only lead to ruin,” Harry answered, “I find it corrected by eyes and ears much older, and much wiser than mine.”

“Yes, as you said this morning. What were you two talking about while I was speaking to Delvin, anyway?”

“Paarthurnax has agreed to teach me to speak _dovahzul_ —tongue of the dragons.”

“Ah. Taking me up on my advice, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is this Paarthurnax?” Brandon asked.

“A very important ally in the fight against Alduin,” Mazhe answered, “He's master of the Greybeards, and he's given us a plan, and possibly how to deal with Alduin once and for all.”

“Just like Hermaeus Mora has provided me with the means to dispose of Tom Riddle once and for all. I only need some way of enticing him to read one of the Black Books. I'm open to any suggestions on that.”

“Your friend Hermione might have suggestions.”

Harry snorted. “Right. After she lectures me on the irresponsibility of such a course of action.”

“As we would do just as quickly. Savos Aren most certainly filled us in on the deities which exist in this world,” said Elaine, “Associating with a demon—no matter how noble the reason... I urge you to tread carefully.”

“As Mazhe has already warned me. I keep that advice at the forefront of my mind during any dealings with him—what did Frea's father call him... Herma Mora?”

Mazhe gave a nod.

“I know there would be a good number of people who would use such an association against me,” Harry continued, “Even if I am using it to be rid of Voldemort. But know this. There is very little I will not do, if it means ensuring the safety of those I hold dear to me. That's the only reason I will deal with Voldemort... considering he's a monster Dumbledore effectively sired—what?” he snorted, seeing the dubious looks he was getting, “Like I said, I had loads of time over the past year, plenty of it spent with research. Reading back issues of the _Daily Prophet_ and the _National Daily Chronicle_... birth records... school records... I've been able to piece together more than a few things that pertain to Tom Riddle. He's a creation of the _great_ Albus Dumbledore. _Nid zuk_ —Nothing more.

“I have to wonder if that's what he was trying to do with me. You know, make me into _tozeinnu mal kolraav—_ perfect little soldier. Soft, malleable, easily guided into doing just about whatever the old man wanted. Luckily for me, I was saved from such a fate. Unfortunate that no one saved Tom Riddle. He needed it far more than me. I... why is it your future self could not go back... back to the time of Tom's youth... and save him?”

“That is a question I cannot answer, Harry,” Elaine answered, sadly, “But you are right. We, too, know much about the man's history, his terrible life at an orphanage. It was most definitely irresponsible for the school to leave him in such an environment. Even then, had he been here in the Commonwealth, the Ministry of Social Services would have intervened long before he began his education.”

“My age... when I was rescued.”

“Sooner,” said Alice, “The Ministry has ways of knowing when a magical child is born. Let's take Riddle's case. His father abandoned his mother before the boy was born. His mother died almost immediately after the boy was born, living only long enough to give him a name.

“In his case, he would have been made available for adoption. Placing a child in an orphanage is the last thing we would ever want to do and all.”

“What if that happened?”

“My department keeps a very close eye on the orphanages we have. The children there are well taken care of—though still not as good a situation as an adoptive family. Tom would have still known what it was like to be cared for... likely made friends... had something to live for and look forward to. If something's wrong, we quickly search for a solution, rather than letting things fester and spiral out of control.”

“Tom Riddle is a glaring example of how wrong things can go, if children are neglected. We have a standing promise that not one child in the system will ever be put in a position where they have no choice but to turn to darkness. Thus far, we have never failed on that promise,” said Will.

“We've come close, but never an outright failure.”

There came a pop, and Dobby was standing beside Harry's seat. “Master Miraak is looking for Mazhe.”

“Oh. Uh... sort of forgot. Let's take this into the chest. Dobby, you mind putting out a few snacks?”

“Right away, Harry Potter sir!” With a pop, the elf vanished.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with the social workers catching up on events that were happening in Skyrim. It was unsettling to learn Harry and his mate were facing the dragons, and the end-times prophecy. However, they simply made available whatever resources Harry and Mazhe might need to defeat the enemy.

Justin returned just before dinner, appearing somewhat relieved. He took a seat at the large table.

“The protocol was adjusted to prevent the prototype phones from working—I'll need to see everyone's phone to make a slight change... or actually a couple.”

“We're allowed to keep them?” Tommy looked surprised.

“It took a couple of hours to make a change to the protocol. The phone in the hands of the enemy won't work anymore. And neither will ours—at least back in the Commonwealth. I need to change a few numbers, and I'll be modifying the controller here. And...” He reached into his own satchel, and pulled out two more mobile devices.

“Since Brandon and Eric will be joining us from here on out...” He laid them on the table. “I'll give you guys a rundown on how they work and how to program them.”

“And you're sure we'll not have a repeat of the incident two days ago.” Brandon still looked doubtful.

“Unless they know exactly how to reprogram the phone, then no.”

“Good grief, we've been here all afternoon,” Guardian Elaine noted, “I do need to get back to the Magnus Chamber.”

Harry glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall beside the corridor leading to the rooms. “Just about time for dinner as it stands. Brandon and Eric, I assume you both will be staying with us.”

“Until her Majesty decides otherwise,” Brandon answered.

“Great. I haven't spoken to Dardanos or the others yet, but I think they would benefit from proper training. Whatever the pair of you would be willing to teach. They're already familiar with the early morning training routine, of course.”

“It will be up to them, but if they're willing, I can easily accommodate. Likewise, Tommy...”

“No,” Tommy answered, coldly, “Harry's ready to forgive... but...”

“Just leave it be for now,” said Harry, wanting to stave off an argument.

“I'll likely return in the next day or two,” said Elaine, standing.

“Likewise. And we would like for you to see healer Ferris.”

“Yeah, I know. She's been wanting to have a chat with me since the Commonwealth rescued me a couple of weeks ago. It will really depend on what unfolds over the next few days. We have told you about the short term plan.”

“I still shudder at the idea of you two facing a dragon, of all things...”

“You've all forgotten about the first task of the Triwizard tournament already?” Harry shook his head. “I faced her, and then I lacked the proper tools for facing such a being. Now we're armed with the proper tools.”

“And we'll be there,” said Eric.

“Right, fine. All we can ask is that you not do anything too insane, Harry,” said Will, also standing, along with his colleague.

“You know me.”

“Yes, the frightening fact of it all. Be careful, Harry.”

After dinner was concluded, they found Dardanos/Spartacus had regained consciousness. Both he and Crixus were looking much more themselves, rather than death warmed over.

While Justin made changes to everyone's mobiles, they were treated to another version of events that transpired in the two years after the Commonwealth's departure from 73 BCE Capua. The lot of them had lost many friends and warriors—though Harry had already known that would happen. Crassus and his powerful army had all but obliterated the slave revolt, then proceeded to crucify a staggering six thousand rebel slaves along the Appian Way. Harry had plenty of time to read up on history, at least in the latter part of his stay at the villa—at least, before he began doing surveillance on the house.

“What will become of us now?” Spartacus at last asked.

“Your life is yours to do with it as you will. Though I would suggest you remain with us for now, at least until you gain a better grasp on the change of culture. You all do understand, our culture has changed in no small way.”

“How far into the future have we travelled?” Crixus asked.

“About two thousand years,” Justin answered, “We're 2006.”

“Gods... I would see this world, then!” Pietros looked excited at the prospect.

“In time, you will. And you've actually seen a small part of it,” said Justin, “When we visited the laboratory for my experiment.”

“Actually we visited a few places,” said Harry, “Though you probably don't remember much of them, considering we only remained briefly.”

“Most appeared as this place does.”

“As was the plan, Dardanos. Though you each participated in the experiment, we did somewhat limit your exposure to our world, since it was expected that you wouldn't be remaining with us,” said Justin. “Had your present circumstances unfolded with someone else, it's very likely the government would be doing some serious investigations.”

“But because it involves me, _son ahmiin ofan_ —less attention is given.”

“Yeah, considering the government is busy kissing his ass right now,” Tommy snorted.

Varro looked confused. “For what reason?”

“Terrible events took place two years ago that I won't go into detail concerning,” answered Harry, “But Tommy lost family, and a lot of people were killed or hurt. A few months ago, information revealed who was truly responsible. Unfortunately for me, I reacted before all of the information was given, and I believed the government was directly at fault for the incident, rather than a terrorist organization. Tommy and I fled from the Commonwealth, and it is only recently that I learn the truth.

“The Commonwealth wants to remain in my good graces, because they need me more than I need them.”

Eric and Brandon both frowned. “Harry...”

“I mean no malice with my words, but speak the truth. I also add that, the sons and daughters of Valicadia give me _gut zuk dahrin wah krif—_ far more reason to fight Voldemort than do the people of Wizarding England. Save for a few friendly faces, as far as I'm concerned, the English Wizarding world can all go hang.

“That said, the responsibility for dealing with the Dark Lord ultimately falls to me, and it is not only the English Wizarding world I must act for. Something I will do, but most definitely will not do it alone. Just as much as Mazhe will not face Alduin alone. _Mu kroson ol dopaan_ —we work as a group... as a team.”

“More shoulders carry the burden,” said Crixus.

“Exactly.”

“Harry has suggested the four of you be trained in our tactics,” said Brandon, “We are willing to do so.”

“It would be an extension of the morning training we did, before your normal training with Doctore,” said Harry.

“Your instruction is welcome,” said Crixus, “I would attend.”

“As will I,” Dardanos/Spartacus agreed, with Varro and Pietros quickly adding theirs.

“It will likely be a few days before we can begin, since there are pressing matters we're dealing with right now.”

“And we should see those matters over and done with shortly.” Mazhe stood in the doorway, with Miraak standing just behind. Both looked exhausted, though Mazhe looked more tired than his fellow Dragonborn.

“I see training continues without us,” Harry noted.

“It was a spirited evening, yes,” Miraak agreed.

“I need some rest,” said Mazhe, “But we will call Odahviing in the morning. Hurry to bed so we get plenty of sleep.”

“I will be along presently, we are just finishing.”

“Go. Be with your love,” said Dardanos, “Or regret the time lost.”

“We'll handle things from here,” said Justin, “Get some rest.”

“I'll be dragging your asses out of bed at dawn, just so you know,” said Tommy, smirking.

Harry smirked right back. “Two words: locking charm.”

* * *

Unfortunately, the following morning, things did not go as planned, as Mazhe received another call from the Guild, this time from Brynjolf.

“Can't we just postpone it for now?” Harry asked, as Mazhe began to explain the matter.

“No. It's Maven Black-briar. She's asked to speak to me specifically. It's one of those times I can't just say 'no'. Last thing we want to do is offend the Black-briars.”

Harry let out a huff. “Great. A much more important matter is once again delayed.”

“Actually, I'd like you to port key back to the Skaal Village, and collect Sahrotaar. We could use his help in dealing with Odahviing. Fill him in on what's going on.

“Meantime, I'll speak with Maven, find out what she wants. Once I find out, I'll call you and we can go from there. Hopefully it won't be anything major, and we can then summon Odahviing. Miraak, I would have you travel with Harry.”

“I think we'll all be coming along,” said Justin.

“Wait. Where would we be going with Sahrotaar?”

“Lost Tongue Overlook, the word wall southwest of Riften. Port key him there,” Mazhe suggested.

With the chest collected and stored away, Harry and Mazhe once again went in separate directions. Mazhe activated his mobile, and vanished. Harry then produced his mobile, and with Brandon, Eric, Justin, and Tommy holding onto him, he activated his.

A few hundred miles made a dramatic difference in the weather. Tommy immediately felt under-dressed at the sharp decline in temperature—never mind the swirling snow and biting wind. Harry quickly produced his chest again, propping it up against the side of the great hall, and pulled open the lid. Tommy wasted no time in climbing inside to fetch a warmer change of clothes.

“Bloody hell... forgot the climate change,” Harry muttered, gesturing to himself with a hand. His lighter clothes were exchanged for winter gear—namely a heavily-lined parka with a strong warming charm on the inside of it. The others did the same, though both S.O.U. Members now dressed in Arctic gear as apposed to the dark clothing they wore only moments earlier. They wore goggles which protected the eyes and most of the face from the biting wind and cold.

“Where are we?” Brandon asked.

“This is the island of Solstheim, and more specifically, the Skaal village. The people here now see us as allies, considering what we did for them,” said Harry. He glanced around, and frowned. “Looks like everyone's inside.”

“The great hall then,” Justin suggested.

“No. Frea's house is there.” He pointed to another house nearby.

They took little time in reaching it, and Harry knocked, being polite. Seconds later, it opened a crack.

“Harry. What can we do for you?” Frea asked.

“I once again seek Sahrotaar. We have need of his help.”

“Is there anything we can do for you?”

“No. It's a matter we're dealing with on the mainland. Mazhe's needing information from another dragon.”

“We wish him luck as he walks the All-maker's path. Sahrotaar has... travelled to your temple,” said Frea, frowning at Miraak.

“Gratitude. We will seek him there, then,” said Harry.

“Do be careful.” With that, the door closed.

“Shor's balls... we'll have to fly there.”

“In this weather,” Tommy muttered.

“Lucky for you, you can stay in the chest.”

“Not a chance.”

“Come on then, let's fetch brooms, let the others know, and collect the trunk...”

Only fifteen minutes later, they circled the enormous stone lattice-work that crowned the entrance to Miraak's temple. The temple's owner currently rode on the back of Harry's broom, with Tommy pairing up with Justin. Eric and Brandon, meanwhile, flew on their own individual brooms—a futuristic model that looked like they were made of metal—quite menacing if Harry had to describe them.

Sahrotaar rested on the top of the lattice-work, and watched as they approached.

“Hail, _thuri_ ,” he greeted.

“Hail, Sahrotaar. We have matters unfolding back in Skyrim, matters where we would _krahl hin freyend_.(2)”

“How do we get him to Skyrim?” Tommy asked.

“Same way as we got him back to Tamriel from Apocrypha,” Harry answered, “We'll travel by port key.”

“For real?”

“We do it all the time back in the Commonwealth. Long as the person or thing is in contact with the person activating the port key,” Justin explained.

“It's the same as how we got to the village,” said Harry, “Right then—“

Just as he pulled the mobile out, it rang. He pressed a button.

“ _Harry, I'm going to Whiterun. While I'm taking care of the assignment, take Sahrotaar to Fort Greymoor. It's marked on the map already. I'll join you in an hour or so._ ”

“What's the old crow having you do?”

“ _There's a competitor meadery in Whiterun she wants put out of business. Don't ask for more details, you probably won't like the answer._ ”

“Oh. Uh... right. Just... be careful.”

“ _I will. Love you, Harry_.”

“Love always.” The connection was closed.

Harry blew out a breath. Part of him wanted to immediately port key back to Mazhe's location so he could help out, but yet, he would then know exactly what Mazhe was being asked to do. Likely something highly illegal.

“Right. A change of plan. Sahrotaar... are you able to help?”

“What is your plan?”

“We plan to capture and interrogate one of Alduin's allies. We need your presence for backup.”

“I will be glad to assist you in this quest.”

“Let's dismount, then.”

The four brooms all descended to the ground, and everyone dismounted, while Sahrotaar momentarily took to the air, only to settle down a short distance from them, making the ground shudder as he landed. After all, several tons of flesh and bone make an impact—they are by no means subtle.

“We will be travelling in an identical manner to the way in which we left Apocrypha,” Harry explained, producing his mobile. “Now... I know we have a location somewhere near that fort...”

He flipped through the dozens of entries he already had... most of them within Skyrim.

“Ah. This will do... everyone get close... Uh... Sahrotaar, put your, uh, chin on my shoulder... good.” He pressed the button to trigger the port key, and they were gone in a massive blur of appendages.

That blur of appendages reappeared seconds later near the entrance to a cave—a set of doors, to be specific. It was below ground level, and so the sloping path gave them a good cover. A quick visual count found everyone had arrived without difficulty. Brandon and Eric quickly restored their black combat gear, and were already taking a defensive stance.

“Right. Remount. Sahrotaar... Miraak and I will ride on your back, if that's agreeable.” Harry thought for a moment. “We kill anything that is a threat.”

Tommy snorted. “No shit.”

“We'll not want to go near the Western Watchtower. Whiterun's guard has a patrol stationed there. They likely won't take too kindly to a dragon showing up.”

By dragon and broom, the flight only took minutes. Unfortunately, the place was crawling with bandits.

“ _Fo... KRAH DIIN_!” Both Miraak and the dragon let out blasts of freezing air. One of the bandits on the ramparts got the full blast of it, and collapsed in a heap.

“Harry!” Justin shouted, but Sahrotaar was already pulling up to block the flurry of arrows.

“Sahrotaar... I would fight from the ground,” said Miraak. The dragon acquiesced, his landing once again shaking the ground. Miraak jumped off.

“ _Mul... QAH DIIV_!” The ghostly, glowing silhouette of a dragon once again encompassed him, as he set upon a group of enemies firing at them from a nearby forge.

Sahrotaar and Harry, meanwhile, returned to flight. More bandits were coming from the double doors at the south end of the fort, having heard the noise and likely feeling the ground shake.

“Let's give them a frosty welcome,” Harry hissed, cupping his hands together.

KAWHACK! A frosty projectile skewered one bandit through the eye socket. He dropped in his tracks, his still-good eye rolling up into the back of his head.

Sahrotaar, meanwhile, let go another blast of frosty air, which froze three more trying to exit the fort. A blast of fire then set the bodies and the doors themselves alight.

“Well done--” Harry spun and launched a pair of ice spikes at a bandit perched on the opposite wall, aiming his bow toward them. The man ducked, the projectile going wide. Unfortunately, he couldn't duck from a spray of bullets courtesy of Eric. He, Brandon, and Tommy all brandished MP5s at this point. Bows against automatic weapons? No contest.

Finally, the last man fell, and Sahrotaar landed in the courtyard, allowing Harry to climb off.

“Gods... once again I fail to remember how dangerous these places can be,” Harry muttered, “An invisible approach would have saved us the trouble.”

“It's over and done,” said Brandon, “Thing is we're all okay.”

“If the plan is to trap one of my fellow _dov_ , it might be better to do it here,” Sahrotaar suggested.

“He's right,” Brandon agreed, “You won't want to attract a hostile dragon close to a populated area. You would get unwanted help... and the idea is to capture and interrogate it, right?”

“Yeah... exactly. We'll have to wait for Mazhe, but this sounds like a good plan,” Harry said, bending down to inspect one of the dead bandits. 

He felt carefully for a satchel—there. Death somewhat dispelled the disillusion enchantment, and once he located it, the bag became visible. He removed it, then opened the flap.

“Jackpot.”

Inside, was a clutch of jewels, coins, amulets, and rings. And...

“Justin... look at this.”

It was an odd-looking jewel. It looked somewhat like a ruby... or maybe a garnet, but the cut was unique.

“Maybe your friend Tonilia might know.”

“Yeah. Agreed. I'll be handing most of this over to her in the first place. Another, uh, legal haul for the Guild,” Harry grinned.

“Harry. Check out this guy. Strange armour,” said Eric, pointing out one of the bandits by the forge.

“Frea wears armour like this.” 

He crossed the courtyard after tossing the captured satchel to Justin. The armour was a dulled silver colour—perhaps it contained quicksilver. The edges were intricate, carved, and the brown material beneath was lined and quilted. A gesture of the hand had it stripped from its owner. Another gesture of the hand had it cleaned and repaired.

“I'll need to break words with Balimund... he will be able to tell me what it's made of.”

One final gesture of the hand instantly replaced his clothes with the new armour.

“I like it. Not even my Guild armour is as comfortable.”

It was a half hour before Mazhe joined them. The assignment had taken a little longer than expected, but he was finally finished.

“Gods... looks like you guys met some opposition,” said Mazhe, looking around.

“Nothing we could not handle,” Harry answered. “Sahrotaar thinks we should summon Odahviing here.”

“Hmm... yeah, a wise thought. We're a ways away from Whiterun... last thing we need is for it to attack the city.”

“We'll take to the air, if Sahrotaar would not mind being my wings.”

“It would be my honour,” answered the dragon.

“Tommy and I will use my broom,” said Justin.

“Likewise, we'll be in the air as well,” said Brandon, “And we should be out of sight. Disillusionment charms.”

“On a dragon?” Tommy looked doubtful.

“He doubts my power,” Harry exclaimed, feigning injury. “The shame of it!”

Mazhe rolled his eyes. “Seriously. Miraak, I would have you on the ground with me.”

“It will be so. The day gets on, we should proceed.”

“Agreed. Get into position, guys.”

With everyone in position only a minute later, Mazhe climbed up the stairs leading to the top of the fort's walls.

“ _Od... ahVIING!!_ ” The shout once again come out like a clap of thunder, echoing across the land.

Now, it was a waiting game. Considering the dragon could be anywhere. Mazhe remained on the top of the wall, turning slowly, watching the skies. He knew the others were doing the same. If anything, they'd had time to get set up, to prepare, and Sahrotaar was right: the place was an ideal place to spring such a trap.

“Mazhe! Northwest!” came Harry's call. Sure enough, a dark shape was flying from the northwest, perhaps from Labyrinthian.

Unseen by the others, Brandon mentally shivered. Sure, they had met a friendly dragon—neither Mazhe or Harry had explained at this point how they had made it friendly... but this would be a deadly enemy. And this  _shouting_ business... Brandon had never heard of such a thing. Or well, he'd heard of the legend, being in Skyrim long enough, but to see it in use? He abandoned the MP5, and went with something with a little more punch. If the dragon could not be controlled...

The dragon let out a terrible screech as it approached, unleashing a blast of fire at an unseen target—a sabre cat, Mazhe realized. None of the circle were that far from the fort.

“ _Dovahkiin_! Here I am!” Odahviing cried, as he circled overhead.

His call was answered by an ice spike, launched from an unseen attacker. The dragon snarled, and unleashed a blast of fire in answer.

“Mazhe... it must be you to trap him,” said Miraak, though he readied a shock spell.

“I know. Dragonrend, though... Ready?”

Unseen, Harry was again hit with a wave of jealousy, as the two Dragonborn seemed to easily get into sync, even though they were in different parts of the fort.

“ _Joor... ZAH FRUUULL_!” The shout again thundered across the land, and Odahviing was hit with the full force of it. He let out a terrifying roar, as he was forced to ground in the court yard.

“Now, Mazhe!” Miraak shouted.

“ _Gol... HAH DOOV!!_ ” Odahviing was nailed with the second powerful shout, and he let out another snarl, before being calmed by the spell. Mazhe felt like he was about to collapse—using two dragon shouts back to back had all but drained him. If they got into another fight, he would be of little use.

“ _Hail, thuri. Saraan uth(3)_ ,” said Odahviing.

“We seek answers to some questions, Odahviing,” said Miraak, “We have defeated your master. Where does he seek refuge?”

Odahviing practically hissed at the speaker, then turned to Mazhe, who was descending the stairs. “Why are you in the company of this traitor?”

“The reasons are complicated,” said Mazhe, “You will follow his orders as you will mine. Now answer his question.”

Odahviing did the dragon equivalent of a frown. “ _Rinik vazah_ . An apt phrase. Alduin  _bovul_ .”

“He... fled from us,” came Harry's voice. He suddenly became visible, as did Sahrotaar. Moments later, the rest of the circle also became visible, hovering about the courtyard.

“I salute your... cunning, _Dovahkiin_... in devising such a _grahmindol_ – stratagem. One reason I came to your call was to test your _Thu'um_ for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his _Thu'um_ was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. _Mu ni meyye—_ we are not fools. None were yet ready to openly defy him.”

“You were telling us where we could find Alduin,” said Mazhe, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“ _Unslaad krosis._ Innumerable pardons. I digress. He has travelled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the _sillesejoor_... the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards...”

Harry couldn't believe it. “He's gone to the land of the dead?”

“How's that even possible?” Tommy, too, was doubtful.

“Do not doubt Alduin's power,” said Odahviing.

“GUYS!!” Justin shouted, pointing madly due south. Everyone looked up to see another black silhouette making a fast track for them.

“Oh bloody hell...”

“Odahviing... get us aloft. Miraak will join us!” Mazhe commanded.

Like clockwork, the two Dragonborn climbed onto Odahviing's back, and the crimson dragon took off.

“Guys, my magical pool was depleted, I've got no magicka restorative potions.”

“We'll cover you,” said Harry. The two dragons were side-by-side at this point.

“No sense in disappearing, he's already seen us,” said Brandon, “You guys have fought him recently, right?”

“Dragonrend is out of the question... we just used it,” said Mazhe.

“I can try, but it would then put me in the same position as you are,” said Miraak.

“Do it. We will cover you,” said Eric, “Strongest weapons we have, guys.”

The monster was then upon them, and he let out a blast of fire that set a swath of ground on fire.

“ _Tahrodiis, Odahviing!_ My teeth to your neck!” Alduin snarled. “And you, _nivahriin_ _joore_ , you will die here, as I grow tired of your insolence!”

“Then see your words met with action!” Harry snarled back, flinging a pair of ice spikes toward the black dragon.

“ _Joor... ZAH FRUUUL_!” Came Miraak's shout, but this time Alduin was ready. The shout missed, simply to roll off into the atmosphere.

“Nice try, traitor. _Hi nid hask wah zey(4)_. Die now, and join your fellow _joore_ in Sovngarde.”

Odahviing answered with an enormous plume of fire, which the world-eater easily avoided, and Brandon was forced to take evasive action, as Alduin sent a plume of fire of his own toward the S.O.U. Member.

BOOM. A forty-millimetre grenade exploded just under Alduin's chest, causing him to roar out in anger.

“What twisted tools do you use? Foolish mortals! _Yol... TOOR SHUUL_!”

This time it was Justin and Tommy forced to take evasive action, as the blast of fire narrowly missed, setting the ground on fire.

“ _Strun... BAH QOOOO!(5)_ ” Alduin's voice echoed like thunder, and the skies began to take on a red hue.

“Oh... gods... what is that? What's he done?!” Harry shouted.

“I... I don't know!” Mazhe shouted back, as the air seemed to crackle with energy.

“Oh fuck...” Tommy was the first to see it, what looked like a meteor falling out of the sky. It slammed into the ground, exploding on contact. Now, Harry and Justin were forced to watch the skies, and blast away the deadly projectiles before they could pummel anyone.

“Should've done this elsewhere,” Harry muttered. Tommy, Eric, and Brandon, meanwhile, were letting fly deadly projectiles of their own, forty-millimetre grenades certainly had a way of getting someone's attention.

“ _Fo... KRAH DIIIN_!” Sahrotaar let fly a blast of frost, and this hit home, making Alduin roar in anger. That was quickly joined by another blast of fire from Odahviing.

THWACK. An arrow pierced Sahrotaar's wing, and only then did Harry realize, they had flown east, and now passed over the Western Watchtower.

“Shit. Turn around!”

“Like how, Harry! Not as if Alduin will let us!” Mazhe shot back, as they were then forced to avoid more arrows from the town guard. Alduin was then in pursuit, forcing them to also duck a blast of fire.

“ _Sonorus_. The black dragon is the enemy, not us!! _Quietus_.”

“ _Gaan... LAH HAAAAASS_!!” Alduin roared, as he swooped down on one of the guards. The man instantly collapsed, barely alive.

BOOM. Alduin snarled again, as this time an explosive projectile nailed him in the tail, causing the end to fall limp. Score one for Tommy.

“ _Mul... QAH DIIV!_ ” Miraak shouted, once again bringing the Dragon Aspect to life.

“You've recovered enough?”

“Enough. We must draw him away, we near Whiterun,” Miraak warned.

“We know that! We turn south, guys!”

Unfortunately, it seemed Alduin picked up on that, as he circled south and cut them off. Worse, still, he once again appeared uninjured.

“Great. There's Honningbrew Meadery. Odahviing... turn left slightly.”

“As you command.”

“LOOK OUT!” Came Harry's frightened shout, but there was no time to react. The world-eater had flown up, and literally dive-bombed the crimson dragon and its riders. The two dragons and both Dragonborn quite literally fell out of the sky to crash into the side of the meadery in an explosion of timber, limbs, and fire.

“MAZHE!!” Harry screamed, terrified at what he'd just witnessed. Now, only a black tail could be seen in the wreckage, as the fire rapidly spread, fuelled by the dry timber.

“Put me down!”

“At once, Harry.”

Sahrotaar set down heavily, and Harry jumped down, producing his wand.

“Help me put out the fire!”

“NO shit!” Justin and Tommy were already on the ground, as was Eric, while Brandon remained aloft, though he also drew his wand. Harry was already throwing a powerful stream of water into the hole, though he also kept a shock spell at the ready—not that it would do a whole lot against the black dragon who still lay stunned in the wreckage.

“H-harry... help...”

“Thank the Gods...” Not giving it a second thought, Harry simply gestured with a hand, dragging his mate out of the wreckage.

“Where... where's Miraak?”

“Don't know. Guys! More water!”

“Uh... Harry... watch out,” Eric warned, noticing the black tail was starting to stir.

“ _Fo... KRAH DIIN_!!” Came Miraak's shout, and an angry roar immediately followed. It was more than unsettling, considering the building was now fully engulfed.

“ _BOMBARDA MAXIMA_!” Eric shouted, sending a blast of magic at the exposed black tail. This garnered another terrible roar from Alduin, still trapped in the wreckage.

Then, an explosion of wreckage sent everyone scrambling, as the angry dragon burst from the flaming building looking furious.

“ _Gaan... LAH HAAS!!_ ” Eric attempted to get clear, but was still partially caught in the path of it, and collapsed.

“Eric! Gods...” Harry shouted.

“NO! Stay there, I'll see to him!” Brandon shouted back.

“Your twisted words will not save you in the end, mortal. We will meet again, and your soul will only feed my power,” Alduin hissed, before once again simply vanishing.

Everyone remained frozen to the spot for a moment, before they exploded into action.

“Eric?!”

“Gods... he's not breathing.” Mazhe was the first at the man's side.

“I'll deal with him. Find... find your friends,” said Brandon, dismounting his broom.

“Miraak! Are you well?” Harry called, sill casting a concerned eye toward Eric.

“Help put this fire out. Odahviing is mortally wounded!” came the man's reply.

Harry and Justin quickly did so, pouring as much water as they could conjure on the blaze. The building at this point was a complete write-off, the roof having collapsed onto the second floor. The conflagration was drawing a crowd by now, as town folk gathered to watch—though many kept a weary eye on the serpentine dragon amongst the circle.

“Harry... I'm taking Eric back to the College so he can be seen by healer Ferris,” said Brandon, “If you guys go anywhere, let me know.”

“Yeah... fine,” said Harry, not keeping his eyes off the fire. Even with the amount of water they were using, the fire was slow to die. Sahrotaar also used his frost breath, but had to be careful, considering both Miraak and Odahviing were still inside.

It took an hour before the fire was beaten into submission, leaving smouldering wreckage behind. Then, and only then, did they find out what had become of Odahviing. He had shielded Miraak from most of the heat, and in the end suffered terrible burns. Far worse, the dragon's left wing had been all but sheared off—terrible teeth marks gave them all they needed to know on how it came to be injured.

“ _Krosis_...” said Odahviing, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Gratitude for saving a friend,” said Harry, “Though you may see him as a traitor.” He felt a hand on his shoulder, and didn't have to look to know it was Mazhe.

“He works against Alduin. _Rok vax, nuz zu'u los ahk. Tiid naram maltiid fah zey._ Seek Skuldafn in the east. _Krif... voth... ahkrin_.(7)”

Odahviing let out one final sigh, before collapsing. The corpse lay still for a moment, before beginning to burn, just as the others, and for the first time, Mazhe felt saddened by the absorption of the dragon's soul.

Far worse, the activity was easily witnessed through the shattered walls of the building by the crowd gathered outside. Mazhe wanted to find a hole somewhere, hearing the muttering and whispering.

“It's like the ancient legends... _Dragonborn_...”

“It can't be... you... you took its very _soul_...”

“Leave him be,” said Harry, nastily, “You lot offered no aid, and it is the responsibility of all to defeat the dark dragon and his allies! Set minds and hands to purpose, or next time, it could be your homes, _your_ lives it takes! _Nivahriin muz(8)_...”

“Harry... it does no good, you know this from your own experience.”

“Fucking sheeple...” Harry muttered, putting his arm around his mate. They both looked a mess, completely covered in soot from the event. “Let us return to Riften, and figure out where this... Skuldafn is.”

“Climb aboard, and I will tell you what I know,” said Sahrotaar.

“None of you will be going anywhere,” said a scowling guard, “Explain to me exactly what has happened here.”

“Commander Caius,” said Mazhe, deciding to be polite, “We didn't plan on this ending up on the outskirts of the city. We trapped that dragon—“ he pointed to the burned corpse in the wreckage of the building, “—with the intention of interrogating him about the location of Alduin. Unfortunately, Alduin decided to show up, and chased us from Fort Greymoor. We prevented the fight from spilling into the city itself. If it had, a destroyed meadery would have been the least of Whiterun's problems.”

“So you should be saying 'thank you', instead of blustering about damaged property and other bullshit,” said Tommy, nastily.

Harry also scowled at the guard. “Have to agree with Tommy here. This could've ended up a lot worse. Gods... we were lucky.”

“And the dead dragon. It was also an enemy?” the commander questioned.

“No. A friend in the end, as is Sahrotaar, here. I would expect word to be spread to the rest of the city guard that Sahrotaar is an ally. Attacking him will not only garner his wrath, but ours as well,” said Mazhe. “A dragon ally in the fight against Alduin... is something we cannot afford to lose.”

Commander Caius frowned, not liking being talked to in such a manner, but relented. This was the Dragonborn, after all—never mind him being the Thane of Whiterun. He did have a fair bit of latitude.

“Very well. I will see it done.”

While Tommy joined Justin on his broom, Mazhe and Miraak once again climbed on Sahrotaar's back. Once on his own broom, Harry pulled out his mobile as they left the ground.

“Brandon?”

“ _Harry. What's going on?_ ”

“We're flying to Riften.”

“ _You guys are all okay?_ ”

“We're fine. When healer Ferris is done looking after Eric, I would have words with her. We have seen some terrible things today.”

“ _We'll meet in Remus' apartment._ ”

“I'll see you there.” Harry disconnected the call.

“Sahrotaar... what do you know about Skuldafn?” Harry rode on his broom alongside them.

“It is one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. _Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til_. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshaled there.”

“After today's fight, that does not surprise me. We will not be doing this today. Gods... why do I feel so exhausted?”

“Do you know exactly where Skuldafn is?” Miraak questioned.

“ _Zu'u lost zaak veyn nii uld kos_ —I have an idea of where it might be.”

“That case, it will likely be easy to spot from the air. Are you okay with taking us?”

“If that is what you wish, then that is what we will do, _Dovahkiin_.”

Harry cast a weary eye toward his mate. He did look haggard, wore out. No, it was unlikely they would be doing much once they arrived in Riften.

“Let us land, and take a port key the rest of the way.”

“Agreed. I still have business to complete with Maven... though she'll be very unhappy with this afternoon's events.”

“Why is that?” Harry asked.

“Well... the meadery was... uh, supposed to be taken over by Maven.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She's gonna be VERY unhappy when I tell her.”

“It was not something we planned,” said Miraak, “Surely your contact will understand.”

Mazhe sighed. “The woman's a witch... I mean that in the worst way. She wants you carted off to jail, it's done. She wants you dead, it's done. Gods, the connections she has... I mean, she's the reason the Guild has remained afloat for as long as it has.”

“We'll eventually deal with her. There are other connections out there that will be much more useful,” said Harry.

“Agreed. Though not just yet.”

They landed where the road forked heading toward Riverwood. Then, with everyone linking up in some way, it was Justin who activated his mobile, causing them to vanish in another massive blur of limbs.

“I could grow used to that,” said Sahrotaar, as they got themselves sorted from the trip. They had landed in the shadow of a small cliff, just southwest of the city.

“Rather convenient to get from one place to another in a hurry, yes,” said Justin.

“Do you have a place to remain out of sight?”

“I recall small overlook a short way from here,” the dragon answered, “Call me in the morning, and I will find you.”

“Call... oh.” Mazhe gave a sheepish grin, as the words formed in his head. Dragon... words of power. He gave a wave, as the dragon took flight, heading to the southwest.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, the five of them were more than glad as they stepped into the large outer cistern that contained the Ragged Flagon.

“Gods... you lot look terrible,” said Dierge, looking them over.

“We battled Alduin today,” said Mazhe, bluntly. That got a raised eyebrow but nothing further from the bouncer. They took seats at their usual table, and Vekel approached with appropriate beverages.

“The usual fare?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. And send word up to Maven that the, uh, assignment has been completed but there are complications.”

Vekel gave a nod, and returned to the bar.

“So. What sort of adventure did you get yourselves into this time?” Delvin dared ask, from his usual spot.

“Alduin. Damn near killed Eric... he killed a dragon ally... Gods... made the heavens open up and throw fiery chunks of rock at us... and I feel like I've been dragged behind a carriage all afternoon. Though... I do feel slightly better,” said Mazhe, before taking a long drink from the mug of mead in front of him.

“Thing is. Mazhe, there is an end in sight,” said Harry, “Tomorrow, we take the fight to him. We finish the path destiny set out for you.”

“I may die.”

“And I will be right beside you. It terrifies me, but... I will not stand idly by. And neither will the rest of us.”

“And know that I will also stand by you,” said Miraak, “Your path is more noble than mine was.”

“And there are still some things I need you to teach me,” said Mazhe, “You know all the words to the Fire-breath shout, correct?”

“I do. And you will know them as well.”

“Later. We need some time to reconcile dark thoughts,” said Harry, “Gods...”

“Realize, today's battle was only a precursor. You know Sahrotaar speaks the truth... Skuldafn will be alive with his supporters—not all of them _dovah_ ,” Miraak warned them.

Harry let out a snort. “Draugr. They are nothing compared to a dragon.”

“Yet, one of my brothers... _Nahkriin_... we will likely find him at Skuldafn.”

“ _Nahkriin_ —vengeance,” Harry translated.

“A... dragon priest,” Mazhe realized.

“Yeah... well, we took on one of those monsters already,” said Tommy, scowling. “We know what they can do too.”

“Well. Either way. We escaped relatively unscathed and still breathing. That's a battle won in my books,” said Justin, raising his glass. “A battle won by numbers.”

“I'll drink to that,” said Mazhe. Bottles and mugs clinked together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: The circle help Mazhe to meet his destiny... and Mazhe has a very important question for Harry..._   
> _AUTHOR NOTES: Once again, I don't plan on Harry being able to use the thu'um nearly as well as Mazhe or Miraak—it's quite clear in the game, that learning how to shout takes a lot of time, and a lot of practice. Even then, one might only learn and truly be able to use a few shouts, and master even less. The Greybeards are an exception, given that's all they do—and considering who their leader is. Ulfric Stormcloak studied with the Greybeards for a time, and even so, has only mastered two shouts—unrelenting force (which can be quite painful if you piss him off, as I've found out more than a few times in-game), and the Disarm shout (which can be a nuisance, since it sends that valuable weapon you've crafted clattering off into a corner somewhere—or worse, clipped out through the walls, gone forever)._  
>  I'm again having to offer apologies for the number of footnotes here, but again, they're all related to dragon speech.   
> _(1) “Pogaan nahlaas, vokrii wah jun” many alive, restored to (the) light._   
> _(2) “krahl hin freyend” - desire your assistance._   
> _(3) “Hail, thuri. Saraan uth” - Hail, my overlord. I await your command_   
> _(4) “hi nid hask wah zey” - You (are) no threat to me_   
> _(5) “STRUN BAH QO” - Storm call shout. This is a shout the player can learn, but Alduin's version is something akin to an Armageddon meteor shower. He used this to destroy Helgen (the town in the opening sequence of the game), and again in Sovngarde._   
> _(6) “GAAN LAH HAAS” - Drain vitality shout. Also available to the player, added by the Dawnguard expansion. It drains both health and magicka from the target._   
> _(7) “ Rok vax, nuz zu'u los ahk. Tiid naram maltiid fah zey. (...) Krif... voth... ahkrin” - he (is a) traitor, but i am also. Time grows short for me. (...) Fight with courage._   
> _(8) “nivahriin muz” - cowardly men_


	33. Dragonslayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circle help Mazhe to meet his destiny... and Mazhe has a very important question for Harry...

**33: DRAGONSLAYER**

**15 - 18 Hearthfire, 4E201**

* * *

Sometime later, Maven Black-briar walked into the Ragged Flagon, with Mercer trailing behind.

“What happened?” the woman demanded. For some reason, the woman reminded Harry of his aunt.

“Honningbrew meadery was destroyed by a dragon—Alduin, specifically,” Harry answered, “He ambushed us while we were questioning one of his allies. We barely kept the fight from spilling into Whiterun itself.”

Both Maven and Mercer looked furious.

“And this is what I get for hiring incompetent fools,” the woman fumed.

“And you would let the world-eater burn Whiterun to cinders, and slaughter innocent people in its streets?” Harry snapped, “Businesses we rely on for their coin! Do not bare teeth without just cause, madam Black-briar.”

“More important question, did you get the information we needed?” questioned Mercer.

“I broke into Sabjorn's quarters and recovered this.” 

Mazhe reached into his rucksack, and produced a set of documents.

“I can't make any sense of it... maybe you can. We're sorry this screwed up. Mallus did explain your plans for the meadery—what happened this afternoon was... we could have died. An important ally died, and I nearly lost a friend as it is,” said Mazhe.

“It wasn't a complete failure,” said Brynjolf, “He did get the information we needed.”

Maven let out a huff and frowned, while Mercer scowled.

“I'll speak with our contacts,” Mercer finally said, “But your pay is forfeit.” He glanced at Maven, and added, “We won't ask for restitution this time, but something like this happens again, you will pay. Make no mistake.”

The pair of them stormed off back into the inner cistern.

“Great. Thanks for nothing,” Mazhe muttered, “It's not like we couldn't have died today or anything.”

“Let's... let's get back to the flat,” Harry decided, “We can call healer Ferris.”

“I'm fine,” Mazhe muttered.

“You look white as a sheet,” said Justin.

“Right. I guess.” 

Harry, meanwhile, reached into his rucksack, and retrieved the smaller rucksack he'd taken off of the bandit back at the fort.

“Tonilia... spoils of war from this afternoon. I accept the usual guild rate.”

“I'll visit with your cut later.”

Stepping into the flat, they found it had underwent some extreme changes. Just about everything had been enlarged, making it more comfortable for the increased number of people that might be around at any given time. A group of witches and wizards were still present, putting the finishing touches on the dining room.

Tommy's nieces, meanwhile, were running about the larger common room, while Pietros jokingly chased them about.

“Gods...” Harry couldn't help but gasp, glancing about.

“With the number of people around, it was time to make some changes,” said Remus, “The Commonwealth was only happy to send out a construction crew to help out.”

“It's brilliant.”

Mazhe looked impressed. “Shor's beard... this is astounding.”

“The government hires only the best when it comes to magical living spaces,” said Justin, as they entered the common room. “Meantime, we need to summon healer Ferris.”

“Won't be necessary.” Healer Ferris stepped into the common room. “I've been attending to First Lieutenant Gomrass.”

“How's he doing?” Justin asked.

“He'll make a full recovery, but whatever that...”

“It was Alduin,” Mazhe corrected.

“Either way, whatever magic that was, it was very lucky he didn't experience the full blast of it.”

“We saw it cast on a guard shortly before,” said Justin, “The man died on the spot.”

“Where is he now?” Harry asked.

“He's here, resting within his quarters. Lieutenant Commander McAllister is keeping him company for now.”

“That... that's good.”

“Uh... madam healer. I—” Mazhe simply passed out, looking even more pale than he had before.

“Mazhe!!” Harry exclaimed, but healer Ferris had already drawn her wand.

“Let me determine what's wrong.”

A few minutes later, they were clustered around the bed in Harry and Mazhe's room, while healer Ferris cast a number of diagnostic charms on the young Dragonborn.

“He looks a step away from death,” said Dardanos. He and Crixus had followed the group in after seeing them pass in the corridor.

“An encounter with vampires a couple of days ago... but he drank a potion of cure disease... that should've taken care of it,” said Harry, doubtful.

“His blood doesn't show any signs of vampirism,” said healer Ferris, “There are certain markers that show up in someone's blood if they are a vampire. I'm still going to draw a sample of blood and have the lab take a closer look... might be something my scan isn't seeing.”

“Vampirism is a little different here,” said Harry.

“Who is the healer here?”

“Uh...” Harry bowed his head, looking sheepish.

“I see you guys have returned.” Everyone turned to find Brandon framing the doorway, with another man just behind him. They were dressed the same, in the black uniforms the SOU were known for.

“Got back a little while ago,” said Harry, “Mazhe's really sick.”

“Sorry to hear. Uh, listen. Eric's not gonna be joining us for the next few days... recovering from whatever magic Alduin used on him. Meantime...” he gestured to the man behind him, “This is Second Lieutenant Kyle Sullivan. He'll be filling in until Eric returns.”

Kyle was an older, dark-skinned man, with a completely shaved head. He had dark eyes, and a narrow face, but looking at him, Harry instead found himself in the memory of seeing Doctore for the first time. Harry mentally shook himself, dragging himself back to the present.

“Welcome,” Harry managed.

“Pleasure's mine.” Kyle spoke with a soft, but deeper voice. “Lieutenant Commander McAllister has filled me in on where things stand.”

“Oh. Mr. Jarvis...” Brandon greeted.

“Harry... and the rest of you for that matter. We need to have a discussion.”

“Give us a few minutes,” said Justin.

A few minutes later, the large group were gathered around the table in the dining room, which was now empty of the contractors.

“Harry, and all of you, for that matter...” said Will, “You all need to take a step back. Take a few days, if only to reconcile your thoughts.”

“Right. While Alduin continues to unleash unholy terror across Skyrim. Forgive me if I disagree with your thoughts right now. There will be time for reconciling thoughts once this matter is concluded.”

“It's not just that single matter at hand, Harry,” said Alice, “You have lost a large group of people you called a friend. You've faced terrible enemies on several occasions over a matter of hours. It's unhealthy.”

“Harry... she's right. And with Mazhe not feeling well... we should take a few days. Regroup, recollect our thoughts. I don't think holding off for a few days is gonna make a lot of difference,” said Justin.

Harry scowled, but then blew out a breath. If he were honest with himself, they were right. His heart still ached at the loss of his gladiator friends. Never mind the four of them now in their midst.

“How long?”

“A week. Give yourselves a week before you pursue matters further,” said Will.

“Impossible,” said Miraak, shaking his head, “For every moment we wait, the world-eater grows ever stronger.”

“Four days then,” said Alice.

“Three. We will wait no more than three days,” said Miraak.

“But—“ Will began.

“Better than none at all,” said Alice.

Will sighed, and relented. “All right. Guess we can agree to that. We're organizing an afternoon at the movies, hopefully tomorrow.”

Harry brightened. “Okay. I guess we could do that. But Mazhe—“

“Will be just fine.” Healer Ferris stood in the doorway. “A nights' rest, and he should be well. With the rest over the next few days, he'll be right as rain. No strenuous activities. Doctor's orders. Now.” She glanced around, her eyes settling on Dardanos. “Err... Dardanos, is it? I'd like to have a word with you.”

Spartacus/Dardanos momentarily looked confused, then looked at Harry, who simply gave a nod. He rose from his seat, and made to follow the healer.

Dinner was a particularly noisy affair, with all of the people gathered at the table. Harry could only shake his head, noting the number of individuals who he called a friend... virtually family at this point. Tommy sat down near the end, his two nieces on either side of him. Both girls were full of energy, excitedly talking about the lessons they were getting from Remus. It was no surprise that the werewolf had easily settled into the role of teacher and tutor for the girls, with assistance from the Commonwealth. Similar to what happened with Harry, Sir Malcolm Davis Institute was providing appropriate course material.

Spartacus/Dardanos, Crixus, Varro, and Pietros were clustered together, likewise chatting amongst themselves. Harry was ever thankful that the four of them had been returned to him, now well on the way to recovery and a new life absent the bonds of slavery.

Brandon and Kyle represented the government, but really, Brandon and Eric had been two awesome friends. Harry took great comfort in having them back. Kyle, for now, was an unknown, but in all honesty, the SOU had Harry's back. It would be a crime to treat Kyle at arms' length.

Justin made up the last of the group present as they took dinner. The man was nearly as close a friend as Mazhe was. Justin had been there practically since the beginning. It had been a few months after Harry landed in Skyrim that they had met. As much as Justin had seen Harry grow up, Harry, had likewise seen Justin as he grew and matured. They were both men at this point.

There came a knock at the main door, and a few moments later, Tonilia stepped into the dining room, with Vex following.

“Uh... did... did something happen?” Harry wondered. After all, the conversation in the Flagon earlier wasn't exactly friendly.

“No, everything's fine,” Tonilia answered, “Only something we discovered in the rucksack you passed me this afternoon.”

“Here.” Vex tossed the strangely cut gem back to Harry.

“But... you won't take it?”

“Not that way, no,” Vex answered, “That's a Stone of Berenziah.”

Harry frowned. “So it's worthless, then.”

“Like that, it is,” said Vex, “The stone was pried off of Barenziah's ceremonial crown by a thief in order to cover his tracks.”

“So there's more of them,” Justin guessed.

“I think there were twenty-four in all. Most people keep them as a curiosity. Some of the Guild members have tried to locate them over the years, but they haven't been successful... well, until now.” She thought for a moment. “If you find the rest of them, talk to me again. Otherwise, keep it and maybe it'll bring you luck.”

* * *

_September 16, 2006 / 16 Hearthfire, 4E201_

_Fox Theatre_

It had taken very little time to get things organized, given the theatre's low rate of occupancy. In fact, there was nothing scheduled until early November. This time, it was a mixed crowd, as a large number of government employees took in a show with their families.

The movie of choice this time was  _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ , which had appeared in theatres the previous holiday season. As the movie got started, Harry at once noticed a difference.

“The picture... it looks a ton better.”

“The projection equipment received a significant upgrade thanks to my department,” Justin whispered, “It's called 'tru-life', an enchantment that enhances any film put through the device, and... well, you see the result.”

“It's outstanding. It's like I could almost reach out and touch what I'm seeing.”

“The whole point of the exercise. We're testing it out in a few other, uh, smaller venues, to see if we can get the same result.”

“Guys... talk later. Let's enjoy the movie,” said Mazhe.

“Oh. Right.”

When the movie finished and the intermission began, the gladiators had many questions, particularly about the opening scene. Machines that flew, and dropped powerful explosive objects on targets below? Spartacus/Dardanos didn't know whether to be impressed or frightened by the idea. If anything, they seemed less fazed by the magical side of things, than by the opening sequence.

The second movie, meanwhile, catered to the older members of the audience:  _Dr. No_ , the first  _James Bond_ movie. Harry rolled his eyes, hearing the three SOU members behind him, heckling the movie, and it had barely started.

“It's a movie, what do you expect?” said Justin, with a shrug. “'course, this was one of the last movies that was shown here, before the government bought the place in 1963.”

“This stuff is still no better than a spoof,” said Brandon, dismissively, “The new Bond movie in November will be more realistic.”

“The film industry doesn't have any clue of what we really do,” Kyle threw in, “Killing the bad guys is only a slice of our job. Bond's too... perfect. He's like a caricature of a real MI-6 agent... almost inhuman. Gods, if it were that easy... well...”

“We'd be out of a job,” Eric finished.

Both Harry and Mazhe quickly realized the SOU were right. The action was comical. They soon found themselves finding a different way of occupying themselves. Justin became fed up with the distraction sometime later, and ended up tagging the pair of them with stinging hexes.

“Next time I'll sit between you,” Justin smirked, as the lights came up, the movie finished.

Mazhe smirked right back. “Okay then. It'll be a three-some... or something like that.”

Tommy arched an eyebrow, while Justin muttered something incoherent.

“Hmmm... Mazhe's got a point,” Harry threw in, with a wicked grin.

“How about no,” Justin finally managed. “I like the opposite sex, thank you very much.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Harry leered.

“Fuck off,” Justin muttered, as he collected his jacket. He then smirked. “Besides, even if I did play your end of the field, I don't think the pair of you could handle the likes of me.”

Crixus gave a wicked grin. “He may boast, but is he able to back up words with purpose?”

Justin rolled his eyes. “If you're all finished done having a laugh at my expense.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry smirked.

“A serious question though. Do you have... well... does your heart belong to someone?” Mazhe asked.

“No. Gods... no time for that sort of thing,” Justin answered, “I mean, honestly, there's just been no time for me to find love. Between my career... and you guys. I know someday I'll find that special someone. Just... not now.”

“I'm sorry,” said Harry, sadly.

“It's not your fault. I chose this, Harry. At first, sure, it was the chance to meet the most famous boy in our world... but something much bigger... something much better came from it. If I had to do it all again, absolutely, I would without question. Everything I am, all the success I've had... it's because of you. Never forget that.”

* * *

The following morning, at the suggestion of his friends, Harry wrote the first letter in months to his friends back at Hogwarts. Rather than using a post owl, Harry simply had Dobby deliver it. It was rather lengthy, touching on some of the crazy events he'd experienced since fleeing from the Commonwealth back in June. He'd suggested perhaps meeting up at the end of September.

After lunch, healer Ferris once again arrived through the fireplace, to see how Mazhe was doing. The lab was still analyzing the blood sample, and so she still had no answer as to what had made him sick. She also asked him about how he was feeling mentally, given what he was facing.

“I've come to terms with my destiny, healer Ferris,” Mazhe answered, simply, “The Gods have placed me in this world to fight a great evil, much as they have done with Harry. Neither of us are cowards. We do what must be done. I can't speak for Harry, but myself... I'm okay with the job I have to do. And with Harry's support, and the support of the rest of the people here, I think we have a very good chance of succeeding.”

Harry considered his own destiny, hearing Mazhe's answer. Had he really reconciled his thoughts on the matter? Mazhe, of course, was right. The both of them had been brought into the world for a purpose. Mazhe to fight Alduin, and Harry to fight Voldemort. Sure, there were no guarantees the pair of them would succeed, but Mazhe was right. They had each other, and the circle of friends around them. In the end, that's what would matter.

It was nearly time for bed, when Dobby returned, bringing a single thick envelope.

“Bloody hell, they wrote a book,” Harry muttered, though he grinned as he opened the envelope, and pulled out the folded parchment.

 

_Harry,_

_Merlin, how much we miss you. When you and Tommy charged into the floo in June, there were more than a few here at the school that called you a coward. The Prophet had a field day, I think. But we knew you had your reasons. You've reconciled with the Commonwealth, I assume._

_School is very different this year, without professor Dumbledore or professor Snape here. Professor McGonagall is doing an outstanding job as headmistress. She coaxed the former potions teacher, a Horace Slughon, to return to the school. He's the head of Slytherin house now, and really, it's a changed house. And we have a former Auror teaching Defence. The class was renamed and they've moved the classroom to another part of the castle. Some rot about Defence Against the Dark Arts being cursed. I guess we'll see at the end of the year, right?_

_You really know Spartacus? Good grief, Harry, it could only happen to you. I'd love to meet him and his friends, hopefully sometime in the near future. Did you figure out why you ended up so far in the past? I mean, be careful, Harry. Meddling with time has caused witches and wizards to go mad, I need not tell you, right?_

_So my honourary brother has found love. Good on you. I hope it lasts. Don't forget to invite us to your wedding. And whatever you do, don't let him down. He's a keeper..._

 

The letter was several pages long, and included missives from most of his friends still at the school. It did sound like a much happier time was unfolding there, now that the teachers were actually doing their jobs. Everyone was pushing for a meet up, and Harry had to agree, it was long overdue. After all, for him, it was over a year since they'd last been together. Perhaps, once the mess with Alduin was concluded, they could arrange for a date.

* * *

The following day, with the morning exercises concluded, the large group, the four gladiators excluded, left the city. In a clearing southwest of it, Mazhe summoned Sahrotaar.

Unlike when they had summoned Odahviing, Sahrotaar arrived within a minute. Indeed, he'd found a resting spot close to the city.

“ _Hail, thuri,_ ” the dragon greeted, after settling on the ground a short distance from the group.

“Good morning, Sahrotaar. We wish to travel to Skuldafn, and have an ending to things,” said Harry.

“Climb aboard, and I will carry you.”

With that, Justin, Eric, Kyle, Brandon, and Harry produced their brooms.

“Miraak, you can ride Sahrotaar. I will ride with Harry,” Mazhe decided.

“And I'll hitch a ride with Justin,” said Tommy. Justin had already straddled his broom, but pushed forward making room.

“Was there a delay?” the dragon asked, as they took to the air.

“I was unwell, Sahrotaar. I was attacked by vampires a few days ago. Even now, I still don't feel at my best.”

“But we are in agreement that this confrontation cannot be delayed any further,” said Miraak, “Doing so will only lend more power to the world-eater.”

Approaching the edge of the escarpment separating Rift hold from Eastmarch, they were forced to gain speed and altitude, as a storm of arrows whizzed through the air around them. Of course, a bandit camp. However, with the speed they were travelling, they quickly left the threat behind.

Fortunately, that was the only sort of resistance they encountered, and less than an hour later, they approached what was clearly a massive ruin, hidden by mountains on all sides. Harry spotted the remnants of a trail from the west, but knew that from the ground, it would have been impossible to find. Truly, the place was effectively cut off from the world.

Sahrotaar at last touched down on a strange mound. It was a circular stone work, with an earthen cover.

“Right,” said Harry, “I'll produce my chest so the others may assist with the fight.”

He reached into his rucksack, and produced his chest, set it on the ground, and restored it to proper size. He yanked the lid open. “Guys! We're here!”

In under a minute, the four gladiators were topside. Harry put the chest away.

“Harry, why don't you stay aloft with Sahrotaar? Miraak and I will work from the ground,” said Mazhe.

“Agreed. Let's put hands and minds to purpose. Do not take the enemy lightly.”

“They're made of bones, bust 'em up,” said Tommy. He'd already produced an MP5, and held it ready.

“Shit, here comes the welcome party,” Brandon muttered.

Sure enough, a group of Draugr were approaching from a set of stairs that led up to the ruin. At least half of them wore helmets with the tall horns.

“You weren't kidding about them being bad-ass. Lock and load, guys!”

“ _Mul... QAH DIIV!_ ” Miraak shouted, with Mazhe quickly following suit, now knowing all three words of the powerful shout. As Harry lifted off on the back of Sahrotaar, he once again felt a surge of jealousy, seeing the pair work so well together.

The four gladiators split into pairs; Dardanos/Spartacus and Crixus, Pietros and Varro. Since up to this point they had not faced the denizens of Skyrim, they decided to work in pairs, rather than to try and go at it alone.

Miraak and Mazhe, meanwhile, separated, but kept relatively close, so they could back each other up if necessary. Given the number of enemies, both Dragonborn unleashed the strongest magic they knew, carving a swath through the threats.

Harry and Sahrotaar, meanwhile, flew up to the upper level of the ruin, and began taking care of the threats there. Like below, there were numerous enemies, the majority of them being somewhat stronger than they'd faced before. It would have been a fool's errand for a single person, even if they carried the dragon blood.

“ _Gol... HAH DOOOV!_ ” came Mazhe's shout, and Harry craned his neck to see a large dragon with purple pigment land not far from the man. Unlike the dragons they'd seen so far, it had enormous horns on its head that resembled those on a ram.(1)

“Mazhe was wise to subjugate him,” said Sahrotaar, “He would have been _zok suleykaar paal_ —a most powerful foe.”

“No matter, we gain another ally—bloody hell, what in _Oblivion_ is that?” Harry had only now spotted the powerful column of writhing, twisting energy soaring up into the heavens.

“Powerful magic. Perhaps this is _miiraak_ —the portal into Sovngarde,” Sahrotaar guessed, as they again circled around, then swooped low. Harry let loose a pair of ice spikes that picked off two Draugr trying to get a bead on them. They collapsed into a heap.

Justin and Tommy, meanwhile, were battling another group of Draugr. While Tommy unloaded an endless stream of bullets into the undead monsters, Justin hurled blasting curses and cutting curses at them.

“ _Fus... RO DAAAH!_ ” The shout came like a clap of thunder, and though Justin did his best to get clear, the end of the broom was caught by it, and that sent them spiralling out of control, to collide with a rock face that formed one wall of the compound.

Both were momentarily dazed, and Justin groaned in frustration. The broom was toast, the force of the collision having cracked the shaft and broke most of the twigs.

“Here. Healing potion,” said Justin, reaching into his rucksack, and offering a vial.

“Thanks.” He consumed the contents. “Looks like we're on the ground from here on out.”

“What happened?” Eric questioned, from his own broom.

“Draugr got us with a shout,” Tommy answered.

“Broom's toast,” said Justin.

“Brandon!” Eric called, “Get over here a moment!”

Brandon took only moments to join them, hovering aloft on his broom.

“What happened?”

“Busted broom, a Draugr got us.”

“Tommy, ride with Eric... Justin, you're with me,” Brandon decided. 

Within seconds, they were aloft again. “Where is... oh. Never mind,” said Justin, spotting Harry and Sahrotaar at the opposite end of the ruin.

“Look out.” Brandon unleashed a burst of rounds from his MP5, cutting down a group of Draugr that were attempting to concentrate their fire.

“ _Yol... TOOR SHUUUL_!” came Mazhe's shout, bathing the monsters in flames. They all collapsed a second later and did not get up. Brandon gave a salute as they moved off to battle the next group.

“Hey guys... we need to get that door sealed,” said Tommy, pointing to an entrance at the opposite side of the grounds. A steady stream of bone walkers were coming out of it.

“Good thinking. RPG should do it,” Eric suggested.

Needing no further prompting, Tommy put the MP5 away, and retrieved the rocket-propelled-grenade launcher. Eric held the broom steady while Tommy got set up. Though the weapon produced unlimited ammo like everything else in his kit, it was by no means a fast weapon to deploy, taking a number of seconds to get lined up with the target. Finally satisfied with the trajectory, he pressed the trigger.

There came a 'whump', and a hiss, as the projectile was launched, and streaked toward the target.

_BOOOOOM_ . The metal doors, the frame, and a good part of the wall exploded into a shower of dust and debris, laying waste to a group of twenty Draugr that had gathered outside of it.

The gladiators now worked individually, having found their feet, now able to gauge the strength of the enemy. The four of them were cutting a swath of their own through the masses, which seemed to be diminishing. With part of the ruin now sealed, there were fewer Draugr appearing.

Unfortunately, that lead to a much more difficult enemy making an appearance. It heralded its arrival with a terrifying roar, and a startled cry was all the warning they got, as the scaly monster snatched Pietros up in its jaws and soared back up into the heavens. Brandon, Justin, Tommy, and Eric had seen what happened, and quickly let fly spells and projectiles, but it was too late. The dragon let go of the boy, and he plummeted to the ground. From that height, there was only one outcome.

Both Harry and Sahrotaar, as well as Kyle and his dragon had seen what happened, and both pairs immediately gave chase. The aerial dogfight that followed lasted several minutes, with Kyle at last landing a 40 millimetre grenade shell in the monster's face. It let out a pitiful roar, before plummeting out of the sky to land in a heap.

Fuelled by anger at the loss of their young friend, Spartacus/Dardanos, Crixus, and Varro stabbed the dragon many times over, quite literally bathing in the creature's blood.

“Stay your hands! Waste no more energy on its corpse. Living enemies are more worthy of your anger,” said Harry, as he and Sahrotaar circled overhead.

“Apologies,” said Dardanos. He was soaked in the dragon's blood.

“Kyle!!!” Mazhe shouted, but it was too late. A green-scaled dragon slammed into the man and his mount, sending them plummeting to the ground in a heap. Kyle's mount let out a pitiful roar of its own, before falling still. The foe untangled itself from the gory mess and took flight again, before launching a plume of fire at Harry and Sahrotaar.

“ _Fo KRAH DIIIN!_ ” Sahrotaar roared, sending a blast of frost in answer. That was matched by a storm of ice that erupted from the ground, courtesy of Miraak. The dragon roared in answer, to then hover in front of the first dragonborn.

“ _Dovah! Ziil los dii du!_ ” Miraak shouted from behind a blue ward shield. The dragon let out a pitiful roar of its own as it fell to the ground, its soul being ripped from its body. A swirling mass of red magic connected with Miraak, as he absorbed the soul.

At the same time, Mazhe approached the dragon the gladiators had butchered, and he absorbed the soul from it, leaving only the bones behind.

“Harry!” came Brandon' amplified voice, “Where's the Staff of Magnus?”

“I have it,” Mazhe answered from below.

Harry amplified his voice. “Mazhe has it. What for?”

“Some sort of barrier that's resistant to everything we have.”

Harry looked over toward where Brandon was, and sure enough, now he could see some sort of blue barrier around the upper part of the ruin. There looked to be an entrance at the lower part of the ruin, with a door up top. They could just go through the ruin's interior, but... what for?

“Mazhe. Climb aboard so we might do away with this obstruction. Everyone else form a group, and do not separate.”

Sahrotaar, anticipating the instruction, set down, causing the ground to shake. Mazhe quickly climbed on behind Harry, and they lifted off.

“And I thought Labyrinthian was bad,” he muttered.

“No. I think that was still worse than this. Fetch the staff,” Harry said, as they made for the barrier. Brandon, Eric, Tommy, and Justin were waiting near the bottom of the barrier, and through it, they could see a throng of Draugr, all waiting for them to get close.

“When we drop the barrier, throw as much fire as we can at those things. I'd see this ended sooner rather than later,” said Harry.

“Sahrotaar. Can you hover? It'll be easier if we're not moving too much.”

“You might fall off,” said Harry, worried. “Your target does not require precision.”

Mazhe let out a huff. “The staff only has a limited number of charges. But fine. Harry, duck down so I have a fair line of sight.”

Harry lay down flat, and Mazhe brought the staff to bear as they flew at the shimmering barrier. He let fly a blast of magic, that hammered against the shield, causing it to ripple, the magic acting almost angry.

“Circle around and we'll try again.”

“ _Fo KRAH DIIN!!_ ” came Miraak's shout, and Harry caught a glimpse of a group of Draugr getting the blast of frost. The place was quite literally crawling with the undead monsters, and Harry mentally shivered, as he imagined the group having to travel through the interior of the ruin. If there were this many Draugr outside, how many would be waiting _inside_?

Miraak and the gladiators were working as a single unit, cutting a nasty swath through the waves of bone walkers, as they climbed the stairs to the lower part of the barrier. Occasionally, Miraak would unleash a powerful shout that would send a more substantial group of the monsters to the afterlife, but for the most part he provided a strong shield, protecting the three gladiators from the powerful magical attacks. The Draugr not only used weapons, but in many cases they also cast deadly magic.

Varro had been nailed on two separate occasions, both times requiring several healing potions to recover. Crixus, too, had been caught by a frosty projectile, and Brandon had been forced to cast several healing charms to get him back on his feet. The scene was most definitely harrowing for someone without magic.

Sahrotaar had circled around, this time giving them a longer run at the barrier. Mazhe again brought the staff to bear, sending a stronger blast of powerful magic at the barrier, causing it to again ripple and crackle, as though angry.

“Again! It's beginning to fail!” Brandon exclaimed from below them. Mazhe needed no further prompting, but sent another powerful blast of magic at the barrier.

This time, the barrier lit up with a blinding flash of purple energy, before crackling out of existence, clearing the way. Then, as a single unit, massive plumes of fire joined dozens of powerful projectiles to impact with the group of Draugr that had gathered at the upper entrance. None of them survived the assault.

Now, those in the air flew up to the top of the ruin, where the enormous column of energy soared into the heavens. Very quickly, they realized where the energy was coming from. An enormous portal was opened in the floor, large enough to permit the passage of a dragon: the portal to Sovngarde. Literally, a portal to the afterlife. It went against the very nature of things. The living daring the land of the dead?!

“We'll keep... well... whatever that is busy. Tommy and Justin, lend your hands to purpose. Eric and Brandon, help the others join the fight here.”

“I'll fight on the ground,” Mazhe decided.

“Right. I'll join you. Sahrotaar, set us down, if you please.”

“As you wish.”

They landed, and Harry quickly dismounted, as did Mazhe. Sahrotaar quickly took flight again, just as the monster standing at the edge of the portal turned around. It pulled a staff out of a groove in the ground, and the swirling column of energy vanished.

“ _Zu'u uth nall thurri dein daar miiraak,_ ” it spoke, “ _Hin laas los dii._ ”

“Translation?” Harry asked.

“I was ordered by my lord to guard this portal... your life is mine,” Sahrotaar translated.

“And your _thuri_ will fall, Nahkriin,” came Miraak's voice. 

Harry turned to see him climb off the back of Eric's broom.

“ _Fus... RO DAAAH!_ ” 

The shout again blasted across the ground, slamming into the dragon priest, sending it flying to the far side of the platform. The monster let out a horrible shriek, before bringing the staff to bear on them. Eric was forced to take evasive measures, as the powerful arc of electricity from the weapon threatened to light him up like a Christmas tree.

Harry cupped his hands together, sending an identical shock toward the enemy. It was far more intelligent than the Draugr below, however, and easily side-stepped the attack.

“ _Grik sahlo iidah(2)_ ,” Nahkriin mocked, retaliating with another powerful shock spell. 

Harry was forced to erect a strong shield ward to repel it, sending the energy rebounding harmlessly into the atmosphere.

“ _Fo KRAH DIIN_!” Sahrotaar roared, showering the dragon priest with a blast of frost. It again let out a nasty shriek, before again retaliating, this time with a frosty projectile of his own. Sahrotaar roared, as the ice shard lodged itself into his left wing.

“ _Yol... TOOR SHUUL_!” came Mazhe's powerful shout. 

Nahkriin let out an ungodly shriek as he was engulfed in flames, along with a swath on the ground.

BOOM. Brandon' 40 millimetre grenade found its mark, and Nahkriin faltered momentarily, before gesturing with a hand. A golden swirl of magic enveloped him, before he again brought the staff to bear. Harry was once again forced to evade the deadly shock spell, this time by Apparating across the ground. This gave him the element of surprise, and he let fly a powerful banishing charm, which slammed the dragon priest against one of the stone walls. It once again let out a terrible shriek, being staggered by the young mage's unusual magic.

Taking advantage of Nahkriin's momentary disorientation, Mazhe, Miraak, and Sahrotaar all shouted in unison—Sahrotaar's frost joined Mazhe and Miraak's flames. Nahkriin collapsed, barely alive, the staff clattering to the ground nearby.

“ _Hi los mul,_ ” he managed, “ _Zumul fein zu'u korah.(3)_ ”

“Many have underestimated us, Nahkriin. To their peril,” said Harry. 

Now, Justin, Tommy, Eric, and Brandon had also gathered around, as did Dardanos, Crixus, and Varro. Everyone brandished weapons just in case. The ground shook momentarily as Sahrotaar also set down just behind them. Nahkriin seemed to focus on the staff Mazhe brandished.

“ _Morokei mahlaan. Hi lost ok vasmiir.(4)_ ”

“Slain by our hands, Nahkriin,” said Harry, gravely.

“ _Dir nu aav hin zeymahhe(5)_ ,” Sahrotaar hissed, “Our time grows short.”

“ _Ruz bolaav zey dinok... dovahkiin(6)_ ,” Nahkriin whispered. The life was quickly leaving him. Mazhe and Miraak shared a look.

“ _Yol... TOOR SHUUUL_!” Two powerful blooms of flames engulfed the dragon priest once more, leaving only a mask and a pile of ash behind. Harry bent over, and collected the mask, stuffing it into his rucksack.

“Is... is everyone okay?”

“it's good. Let's just... figure out how to get the portal open,” said Mazhe.

“The staff was set into a groove over there,” said Harry, pointing to a spot near the sealed portal.

“Should be just a matter of putting it back, then,” Mazhe guessed, stowing the Staff of Magnus away. 

He picked up Nahkriin's staff, and crossed the grounds, to the spot where the groove was, clearly outlined by a circle about three feet across.

“Are we ready?”

At quick answers in the affirmative, Mazhe set the end of the staff in the hole. The ground shook, as the portal came to life, the opening practically dissolving into a light purple storm of light which shot like a column up into the heavens.

“All right. This is it.”

“ _Zu'u nis kiibok_ —I cannot follow,” said Sahrotaar, “But fight with courage.”

“Gratitude for lending your hands to purpose. We will see you when we return,” said Harry.

“I will go first,” Mazhe decided, and before anyone could voice opposition, he jumped into the purple beam of energy, and vanished. Harry immediately followed, and one by one, the others also followed suit.

* * *

They found themselves in what could be best described as a vale of sorts, save for the fact that one could not see more than ten feet in front of them.

“Clear skies,” Mazhe whispered.

“ _Lok... VAH KOOOR!_ ” came two powerful voices, and the fog was driven away to reveal the path ahead.

They quickly realized the dragons had infiltrated the strange vale as well, and soon they were again fighting against the scaly beasts, hidden within the fog that could only be pushed back for a few minutes at most.

They also encountered a number of spirits within the mist, all of them had become lost in what they called 'Alduin's soul-snare'--an apt phrase. What had Odahviing called them, the  _sillesejoor_ —souls of the mortal dead. At least three different occasions, they witnessed a large black shape descending into the mist ahead, then soaring back into the sky again.

Finally, they arrived at a wide set of steps ascending to a small plateau, and beyond it, an enormous bridge made of the bones of a great sea creature—a whale, if Harry had to guess. Just before it, there waited a giant of a man.

As they climbed the steps, the man stepped forward, his eyes moving over the group to rest on Mazhe.

“Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'til I judge them worthy by the warrior's test,” he intoned, his voice even.

“Who... who are you?” Mazhe asked.

“I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall where welcome, well-earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honour.”

Mazhe looked confused, but Harry now knew exactly who it was. The gate keeper of the bridge into Shor's Hall, the grand structure that lay across the bridge—Sovngarde itself. Harry dropped to one knee and bowed his head. He quite literally stood in the land of the dead.

Taking a cue from their friend, Dardanos and his fellow gladiators quickly followed suit, while Brandon, Eric, Justin, and Tommy simply remained standing, though heads were bowed in respect.

“We pursue Alduin,” said Miraak, joining Mazhe.

“A fateful errand. No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught - perhaps, deep-counselled, your doom he foresaw.”

“We seek entrance into the Hall of Valour,” said Harry, still kneeling. Mazhe was not well-versed in the lore of the Nords' land of the dead, but Harry had certainly done some research.

“No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?” Tsun's eyes had momentarily flicked to Harry, but they flicked back to Mazhe.

“I... uh...” Mazhe was unsure as to how to answer.

Harry thought a moment. “ _Hi los dovahkiin(7)_ , Tsun.”

Tsun smiled a moment. “Ah! It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood.”

“Then may we enter?” asked Mazhe, hopefully.

“Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'til I judge them worthy by the warrior's test.”

“I have to face you in battle?”

“It is so. And this you must do alone, absent your company.”

Mazhe bowed his head. “My mate seems to know more about this place than I, but... I accept your challenge, and meet you in the warrior's test.”

Tsun returned the bow, before unsheathing a blade. Then, the fight was on. Mazhe had faced pretty tough opponents in his young life, but Tsun was a giant of a man with a long reach. His blows were powerful, and deadly, and for the next five or so minutes, it was everything Mazhe could do to keep from falling to the gate keeper's attacks.

Finally, Tsun sheathed his blade, and bowed again.

“You fight well. I find you Worthy. It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor's favour follow you and your errand. Your companions, however, must await you here.”

Harry watched as Mazhe crossed the great whalebone bridge.

“Finally, an end is in sight.”

“And then we deal with Tom Riddle,” said Justin, “After we have a break from all of this... I want to run something by you. A thought on how to deal with him.”

“I already have a way it's just...”

“I know. And it involves one of those books you have, right?” At Harry's nod, Justin continued, “You need a way of getting him to read it, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I won't discuss more of it now, since we all need our heads here rather than there... but I think you'll like the concept.”

“That's great. To be free of my destiny will bring me great joy.”

“You walk a similar path,” said Tsun.

“We do. We each face a terrible monster. Though it is his destiny to battle the world-eater, there is nothing decreeing he must do it absent assistance. I would readily lend hands to purpose.”

Only a few minutes passed, before Mazhe returned, with three others following him. Two of them were dressed in ancient Nord armour, much like the set Harry used to wear. The third wore a set of robes like Arngeir.

“Guys... I introduce Gormlaith Golden-hilt, Hakon One-eye, and Felldir the Old. They created Dragonrend.”

“We must not delay,” said Felldir, glancing at the group waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“Clear skies! Combine our shouts!” Gormlaith shouted, as the three of them took up places along the foot of the steps.

“Harry and the rest of you might want to wait behind us,” Mazhe decided, as he and Miraak took up positions on the far right of the steps. Harry, the gladiators, Tommy, Justin, and the SOU members quickly followed his suggestion.

“As one... _Lok VAH KOOOR!!_ ”

The shout, amplified by five, stormed across the vale, driving the mist back as if by the wind. A number of souls were revealed, and they quickly made for the whale bridge, now that they knew the way.

Then—

“ _Ven Mul RIIK!_ ” came a shout. No one could figure out exactly where it came from, but the heavy mist almost instantly reformed. Mazhe seemed to deflate.

“Gods...”

“Alduin is strong, we know this. One more time, all together!!” Felldir urged.

“ _Lok VAH KOOOR!_ ” 

The massively amplified shout again dispelled the mist. However, just like the first attempt, there came the hidden voice yet again:

“ _Ven Mul RIIK!_ ” The mist recovered the vale for the second time, thick and foreboding as ever.

“Does his strength have no end? Is our struggle in vain?” asked Hakon.

“Stand fast! His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!” said Gormlaith, confidently.

“One more time, and the World-eater must face us!” says Felldir, “Again, combine our shouts!”

“ _Lok VAH KOOOR!!_ ”

For the third time, the mist was parted, and for several seconds, nothing seemed to happen. Then, Harry felt it. The build-up of magic, something akin to the buildup before a thunderstorm.

“Be vigilant,” Harry warned, “I think he's coming.”

He'd just got the words out of his mouth, when a massive black shape swooped over the small, rough hill a short distance from the steps. A plume of fire scorched the ground, forcing everyone to scatter.

“ _Struhn BAH QO!!!_ ”

Harry mentally groaned, seeing the sky begin to turn red. As if fighting the dragon wasn't difficult in its own right.

“ _Lok VAH KOOOOR!!_ ” Felldir, Gormlaith, and Hakon shouted in rebuttal. The sky quickly cleared.

“Foolish mortals,” Alduin snarled, “You will all die here.”

Mazhe once again shared a look with Miraak.

“ _Joor... ZAH FRUUULLL!_ ”

Alduin roared in anger, as he was struck by the amplified shout. He was surrounded by a blue hue, and quite literally dropped out of the sky to land in a heap. He narrowly missed the three gladiators, who immediately set on him with their blades, hacking away with reckless abandon.

“Varro!!!”

Harry's panicked shout was lost in the confusion, and he could only watch in horror, as the man was caught in the path of Alduin's tail as it flailed about. Varro was sent flying high into the sky, to crash into a heap in the distance.

“Harry no! Back us up!” Mazhe shouted, letting go a powerful blast of fire from cupped hands.

Harry knew his mate was right. All attention had to be given the black foe in their midst. He cupped his hands together, unleashing the strongest shock spell he could muster, causing Alduin to roar again.

“ _Fus... RO DAAAAH!!_ ” came Alduin's shout, and Felldir only barely got clear of the blast path.

“Dardanos! Crixus! Get clear!” Brandon ordered, as he produced an RPG. Tommy and Eric were doing the same thing. “Everyone else keep him busy!”

The two gladiators quickly understood the planned tactic, and while Harry and the others kept Alduin occupied, the pair got out of the way, joining Harry and Mazhe. The pair had done a number on the black-winged dragon, having effectively broken his right wing at the first joint.

“Even if your enchantment should fade, he will still be absent flight,” said Crixus, viciously.

“Well done,” said Miraak, “Indeed, Dragonrend will wear off after a time.”

“ _Fus... RO DAAAH!_ ” Alduin shouted again. This time, Justin was forced to take action, but simply Disapparated with a noisy _pop_ to reappear about twenty feet away.

“What twisted magic do you use?!” Alduin snarled.

“Afraid, worm?” Gormlaith mocked, “Today you meet your end!”

“ _Struhn_ —“

“ _SILENCIO_!!” came Harry's shout, but it had no effect.

“— _BAH QO_!!”

“Shit,” Harry muttered, as the sky again began to turn red.

Whump whump whump. Three projectiles streaked across the distance between the SOU members, Tommy, and the world-eater, to explode with earth-shaking results. Alduin snarled again, the projectiles clearly causing great pain and injury.

“Now! Everything we have!” Felldir shouted.

“ _Fo KRAH DIIN!_ ” Miraak shouted, and a blast of frost swept over the dragon, while Harry lobbed a storm of ice spikes.

BOOOM. Another projectile had exploded in Alduin's face, causing him to roar in anger. The Dragonrend enchantment had worn off, and as he tried to take off, he roared again, realizing his wing had been rendered inoperable.

“ _Nivahriin joorre_ ,” he hissed, then unleashed another scorching blast of fire which Eric and Brandon were forced to dodge by popping away. Brandon had grabbed Tommy by the shoulder, ensuring he wasn't left behind.

They reappeared on the opposite side of the dragon, and once again unleashed some truly deadly weaponry into it.

“Dragon aspect, Mazhe,” said Miraak. At Mazhe's nod, the pair of them shouted in unison, “ _Mul... QAH DIIV!_ ”

The ancient heroes were in awe, as the ghostly aspect of the dragon formed over the two dragonborn. They shared another look.

“ _Fus... RO DAAAAH!_ ”

The combined shock wave slammed into Alduin, sending the dragon backward nearly fifty feet, and causing him to roar again in anger. But the large group could see this had done far more than send him backward. The way his head was bobbing gave them all the indication they needed—the fight was nearly over.

“Dragonborn, it must be you to cast the final blow,” said Hakon.

“Go, Mazhe. Let us finish this,” said Harry, at last catching his breath. “Wait. _Silencio_!”

This time, it was clear the magic had effect, as Alduin reared back to shout, but found he couldn't. The world-eater's voice was silenced by a spell not of Nirn, cast by a mage barely a man.

Mazhe, meanwhile, climbed up the dragon's injured wing, drawing a dagger from his rucksack and unsheathing it. He climbed up Alduin's neck, and gripped one of the horns.

“ _Zu'u Mazhe Strundu'ul, Dovahsebrom._ Be gone, world-eater. _Zu'u fjerd hi wah hin oblaan au daar sul.(8)_ ” 

Momentarily surprised at the words spilling from his tongue, he plunged the dagger deep into Alduin's skull. Mazhe was thrown off the beast, as Alduin reared his head back, letting out a silent scream... and at first, it was thought the attack had failed.

Then... it was as if the fine paper from a bee's nest was filling the air, flakes were beginning to peel off the dragon, as it reared up on its hind legs, throwing its wings open wide. Ungodly, unholy snarls and screeches filled the air, whatever magic at work having cancelled Harry's silencing charm. Everyone stood rooted to the spot, as a strange, swirling mass of black energy was then surrounding him, with more and more 'paper' peeling off.

“ _Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis oblaan!(9)_ ” Alduin shrieked. And then...

BOOOOOOM. A ground-shaking, ear-shattering blast sent everyone to the ground, as Alduin let out one final shriek, his body being obliterated in every sense of the word. Not a scrap remained to tell the world he had existed—not even his soul remained.

* * *

For several long moments, no one moved, prone on the ground. Harry shook his head several times to dispel the painful ringing sensation from the blast... but other than that, no injuries. He took his time getting to his feet.

“Mazhe?”

His sight found his mate a short distance away, still sitting on the ground. He wasted no time crossing the distance, but found him shaking. “Mazhe?” Still no answer, and so he knelt beside him, and touched his shoulder.

And then, Harry realized, Mazhe was actually crying. 'I would do the same,' Harry realized, as he took his mate into his arms to offer comfort. It was an action well-received, as the pair locked in a tight embrace. Harry felt his eyes prickle, as he realized the magnitude of the event. Mazhe had fulfilled his destiny, and was free of it. How long would it be, before Harry was free of his?

“We have done a great thing,” Mazhe finally managed, “You... I can't begin to say thank you for being here.”

“Mazhe. I would never let you face this sort of thing absent my hands. There is little I would not do to make it so.” 

Harry looked up, to see the rest of the group finally getting back on their feet, and Tsun was making his way over.

“We can reconcile our thoughts in the near future. For now, there is business yet to be concluded. Tsun approaches.”

“All right, Mazhe?” Justin asked, being the first of the group to get to them.

“I... couldn't be better, Justin,” Mazhe answered. 

Though tears still stained his cheeks, he gave a wide smile, perhaps the first in days. The others were also gathering now, and Tsun at last spoke, as Felldir, Hakon, and Gormlaith all went down on one knee, heads bowed.

“This was a mighty deed! The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor's hall forever. But your fate lies elsewhere. When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting.”

“But... I am no Nord, Tsun. I am a Breton. The praise is welcome, but... this is not my afterlife.”

“Nord or no, this great deed you have done grants you entrance to Shor's hall.”

Tsun placed a great hand on Mazhe's shoulder.

“When you are ready to rejoin the living, just bid me so, and I will send you back.”

Now, the three ancient heroes regained their feet, shouting, “All hail the Dragonborn! Hail him with great praise!”

“Hail, Mazhe Stormcrown, Dragon of the North,” said Harry, “May he now be forever known as _Dovahkriid_ —dragonslayer!”

“Hail the Dragonborn!” the three heroes again exclaimed, “Hail the dragonslayer!”

Mazhe had to wipe his eyes, as the praise was showered upon him. His eyes glistened still, but he stood a little straighter.

“Tsun. Allow me to see to my companions.”

“There is no hurry.”

“And. There is one thing I must do.”

Mazhe turned to Harry.

“While I have finished this great deed... I could not have done it without this circle of people who join me, none more so than Harry. We've done many great things... and perhaps... things that are not so great. But... I would see that bond be further cemented.

“Before the thane of Shor, I ask your hand, Harry Potter.”

Harry was gobsmacked. There, on the threshold of Shor's Hall, just minutes after perhaps one of the most epic fights yet, Mazhe had just utterly floored him. The answer, however, was simple, automatic.

“Mazhe Stormcrown. Slayer of Alduin. My friend. My love. Your name I gladly take, forever mine, until my count of days is over.”

The rest of the circle were equally shocked at the turn of events... in a good way, of course. It was Tsun, however, who offered congratulations.

“Shor smiles on your union, Dragonborn.”

“Let's... we should get back,” said Justin, still a little in a fog. 'Gods. Never saw that coming,' he thought, as Harry produced his chest. The young wizard was grinning madly now.

“Wait,” Tommy remembered, “Where is Varro's body?”

“I see it,” said Justin, producing his wand. “It's a little crass, but... _Accio_ Varro.”

The body flew from where it rested, to several pairs of outstretched hands.

“We'll be sure he's given a proper memorial.”

“Our fight was costly,” Harry agreed, “We lost three friends today.”

“And it is the cost of battle, Harry,” said Dardanos, “It is an accepted risk.”

“It may be so, but it still brings little comfort. Let us conclude business here. We will remain in the chest. Mazhe, if you could carry it back to Nirn with you.”

“You need not ask.”

* * *

A few minutes later, the lid of the chest was thrown open, and Mazhe stuck his head in.

“Guys! Get up here quick, something's happening!”

At the urgency in his mate's voice, Harry was up the ladder first, and he came on a most bizarre sight. They had somehow returned to the Throat of the World, and all around, there were dragons perched. At first, Harry made to produce a purple orb of magic, ready to defend himself, but relented, hearing them speak in unison:

“ _Alduin mahlaan(10)._ ”

“ _Sahrot thur qahnaraan(11)_ ,” spoke one perched high above them. He opened his wings, and lifted off.

“ _Alduin mahlaan_ ,” they all cried again.

“ _Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid(12)_ ,” spoke another, this one at the opposite end of the summit. He too, took flight.

“ _Alduin mahlaan_ ,” came the cry in unison.

“ _Thu'umii los nahlot(13)_ ,” spoke yet another, before he took flight.

“ _Alduin mahlaan_.”

“ _Mu los vomir(14)_ ,” spoke another.

This cycled for several minutes, before the summit was left with only a few of the winged creatures.

“So, it is done. Alduin _dilon_.” 

Paarthurnax rested on the broken word wall.

“The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been.”

“You don't sound happy about it,” said Harry.

“Happy? No, I am not happy. _Zeymahi lost ont du'ul Bormahu_. Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh's creation,” answered Paarthurnax, sadly.

“I do not regret what I have done, Paarthurnax. Alduin had to be destroyed,” said Mazhe, “Though it does pain me to know it saddens you.”

“Of course. Alduin _wahlaan daanii_. I would not have helped you if I thought otherwise. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his _pahlok_ \--the arrogance of his power.” He made the dragon equivalent of a sigh. “But I cannot celebrate his fall. _Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah_. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same.”

“But... the world is a better place without him... brother or not, he did terrible things,” said Harry.

“Perhaps. At least it will continue to exist. _Grik los lein_. And, as Mazhe told me once, the next world will have to take care of itself. _Ful nii los_. Even I cannot see past Time's ending. Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the _vennesetiid_... the currents of Time. Perhaps you begin to see the world as a dovah.

“But I forget myself. _Krosis_. _So los mid fahdon_. Melancholy is an easy trap for a _dovah_ to fall into. You have won a mighty victory. _Sahrot krongrah_ \- one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savour your triumph, _Dovahkiin_. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time.”

“We could not have done it without your help... and Sahrotaar's help,” said Mazhe, with a bow of the head, “We are forever in your debt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UP NEXT: Harry and his circle, along with the Commonwealth, bid farewell to those killed in the battle with Alduin.  
> CHAPTER NOTES: I did warn of character deaths at the beginning, right? This was only natural, they did face a horde of Draugr, never mind the dragons. Battle is ugly, confusing, and brutal. There's just no way everyone was going to survive, well-trained or not.  
> Either way, it is done. Alduin is gone, and Mazhe completes his destiny. Now, Harry must face up to his. And, Justin has a very interesting plan on how to do so.  
> (1) Legendary dragon, the most powerful type of dragon the player can encounter in the game, if they have the Dawnguard expansion installed. It's actually stronger than Alduin. They begin to appear at level 78 and above.  
> (2) “grik sahlo iidah” - such [a] weak attack.  
> (3) “Hi los mul... zumul fein zu'u korah” - You are strong... stronger than I believed.”  
> (4) “Morokei mahlaan. Hi lost ok vasmiir.” - Morokei [has] fallen. You have his staff.  
> (5) “dir nu aav hin zeymahhe” - die now [and] join your brothers  
> (6) “Ruz bolaav zey dinok... dovahkiin” - then grant me death... dragonborn.  
> (7) “Hi los dovahkiin” - he is dragonborn.  
> (8) “Zu'u Mazhe Strundu'ul, Dovahsebrom... zu'u fjerd hi wah hin oblaan au daar sul” - I am Mazhe Stormcrown, dragon of the north! I send you to your end on this day. (The Greybeards bestow both of these titles on the dragonborn at the end of “The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller”)  
> (9) “Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis oblaan! “ - I'm unending! I cannot end!  
> (10) “Alduin mahlaan” - Alduin [has] fallen.  
> (11) “Sahrot thur qahnaraan” - the mighty overlord is vanquished  
> (12) “Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid” - [the] dragonborn is his dragonslayer  
> (13) “Thu'umii los nahlot” - his shout is silenced  
> (14) “Mu los vomir” - we do not follow him


	34. Interlude: Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry and his circle, along with the Commonwealth, bid farewell to those killed in the battle with Alduin._

**34: INTERLUDE – FUNERAL**

**18 – 21 Hearthfire, 4E201**

* * *

Harry and his circle were not seen for the next few days, as they all sought to reconcile their thoughts and feelings. It had been what seemed like an unending stream of chaos since the first meeting with Paarthurnax. Healer Ferris had spoken to all of them, including Brandon and Eric—considering they did lose a colleague during the battle.

In addition to speaking with Mazhe about the events, she also shared the findings of the medical lab back in Trevelyan. Whatever had made Mazhe sick was not vampirism. However, she cautioned, exposure to the condition a second time would likely turn him, and no potion would cure him.

On the 21 st of Hearthfire, a funeral was held for the dead atop the Throat of the World. Harry had approached Paarthurnax the previous day and had gotten permission to do so. Not only was the entire circle present, but in addition, Sahrotaar rested nearby. A large contingent of the SOU were present, as was the Queen herself. The unit had lost one of their own, and so it was only appropriate that their commander in chief attended. Kyle's parents were present, as was his wife. Judging by the bump at her midsection, she had to be about six months along. Her child would grow up absent a father.

Brandon and Eric had returned to Skuldafn, and had managed to recover both Kyle's body, as well as the few remains of Pietros. They were placed on top of an enormous funeral pyre, along with Varro's body.

“Our hearts weigh heavy today,” the Queen began, “Though not in direct conflict here in these lands, We have a vested interest residing with Our ward. Our Special Operations Unit faces great danger every time they are called to duty, whether it be here or elsewhere. Yet, that knowledge still does little to lessen the heartbreak of loss.

“Second Lieutenant Kyle Edward Sullivan was a member of Our Special Operations Unit. However, he was more than just a soldier. He was a son to loving parents. A husband to a wife expecting their first child. No wife should have to bury their husband. And no parent should ever have to bury their child.”

She stepped back, and Dardanos stepped forward.

“Domina speaks many truths,” he began, “I know the pain Sullivan's wife must now endure, a heart weighing heavy, her love now forever absent her side. I walk the same path every waking moment. It is only tempered with the knowledge my wife waits for me in the afterlife.”

He paused a moment to collect his thoughts.

“As gladiators, we embraced death, and welcomed battle with a ready sword. Pietros and Varro accepted that possibility such as Crixus and I. To join battle and it mean something... to die for purpose other than the pleasure of others. Their passing was not in vain, and the gods carry them to a better place.”

He stepped back, and Crixus gave him a squeeze on the shoulder.

“ _Dilon lahney au ko un zahreik ahrk vahrukt_ —the dead live on in our hearts and memories,” said Paarthurnax, “Do well to remember their friendship and their company.”

“I heard a quote once,” said Justin, “I forget who said it, but, it goes, 'Do not mourn the dead, they know what they're doing'. Varro, Pietros, and Kyle have left us, but they go to a better place. Dardanos put it best, they're in the hands of the gods now.”

A pair of torches were produced, one for Dardanos, and one for the Queen. Together, they lit the funeral pyre, and as the flames took hold, the rest of the SOU team present began to sing:

 

_I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,_

_Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;_

_The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,_

_That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;_

_The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,_

_The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice._

 

As they continued to sing, Dardanos and Crixus began to spar, the clash of their blades being the traditional gladiator send-off. Crixus had participated in such an event a number of years prior, when Quintus' father passed on.

Harry and Mazhe simply looked on, Mazhe having his arm across Harry's shoulder, pulling him close.

“I can only hope... we suffer no more casualties than this... perhaps fewer... when the time comes for me to face Voldemort,” said Harry, softly.

“We can only do our best to prevent such a thing, Harry. But you know that. And if there are casualties in battle, they fall in the act of doing what is right, such as Varro, Pietros, and Kyle all did. Spartacus—I mean, Dardanos put it best. Their passing was not in vain.”

“It still weighs heavy on the heart, that any must die in the first place.”

The air was suddenly punctuated by three enormous plumes of fire that bloomed into the heavens, as Miraak had teamed up with the pair of dragons, offering a fiery tribute to the fallen. It was beautiful, and Harry silently prayed to the gods that this would be the last.

Unfortunately, the storm they had weathered would only be a precursor to the terrible events to come over the next few months. A number of forces at work paved a path that not even Harry would expect. A path that would test the mettle of the circle itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: On Justin's suggestion, a plan is hatched that would bring about the end of Voldemort; Spartacus and Crixus both get an unexpected makeover thanks to Tommy's nieces; and the Thieves Guild ends up dealing with a terrible betrayal from within..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Not a full chapter, but I felt this needed to stand on its own._


	35. Bad For Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _SUMMARY:On Justin's suggestion, a plan is hatched that would bring about the end of Voldemort; Spartacus and Crixus both get an unexpected makeover thanks to Tommy's nieces; and the Thieves Guild ends up dealing with a terrible betrayal from within..._   
> _WARNING: Major spoilers for Skyrim's Thieves Guild main quest._

**35: BAD FOR BUSINESS**

* * *

_23 Hearthfire, 4E201_

Following the funeral, the circle had once again retreated back to the flat, choosing to take it easy for a few more days. Harry had voiced the idea of attending a movie or three, but as fate would have it, the Fox was presently occupied with some sort of convention, and would be for the next three days. Tommy had suggested borrowing another theatre, but Harry had nixed it. The Fox was special, for several reasons. And seeing a movie in the Virtual Projection Room was not the same either.

So it was, that morning, Brandon finally pushed everyone to return to a routine. They conducted morning exercises, finishing with mental exercises. Then, the group split up. Miraak disappeared into his room (since the Virtual Projection Room was occupied), while Mazhe and Harry took over the dining room for morning classes with Justin. Tommy, Brandon, Eric, Dardanos, and Crixus, meanwhile, vanished into the Virtual Projection Room for training.

As lunch finished, however, the routine was again interrupted, as Brynjolf entered the flat.

“Mercer thinks he's uncovered who is responsible for the sale of Goldenglow, and the interference at Honningbrew Meadery,” he said.

“Who?”

“An Argonian named Gulum-Ei. He's our inside contact at the East Empire Company in Solitude. Mercer wants you to head out there and have a word with him, find out what he knows.”

“Can I expect trouble from him?” asked Mazhe, before taking a swig of his mug of mead.

“Trouble?” 

Brynjolf let out a chuckle.

“He's one of the most stubborn lizards I've ever met! You have your work cut out for you.”

“How do we get him to open up then?” asked Harry.

“You're going to have to buy him off; it's the only way to get his attention. If that fails, follow him and see what he's up to. If I know Gulum-Ei, he's in way over his head and you'll be able to use it as leverage.”

Harry let out a snort. “Gods... he's gonna owe the guild big time.”

“Aye, he does indeed... and with his fingers in the East Empire Company's pie, we'll make good use of that debt.”

Brynjolf flicked his eyes back to Mazhe.

“If I'm not being clear enough, that means we don't want him killed. For now, just keep on his tail and he's bound to step into something he can't scrape off his boot.”

“Uh, actually...” Justin spoke up, “Mazhe, you okay with flying solo? I need to bounce an idea off Harry. It's to do with Voldemort.”

“Sure. It's a guild contact, nothing I can't handle,” said Mazhe, turning back to Brynjolf. “Where would I find him?”

“He fancies spending time at the Winking Skeever.”

“Ah. I think I've seen him before,” Mazhe remembered. “That makes it a little easier.”

“Aye. Good luck. Come back into the cistern and speak to Mercer when you return.” With that, Brynjolf left the way he came.

“Anything just a hair out of place, ring me at once,” said Harry.

“Count on it. Now... let's see. I'm sure I've got the Winking Skeever marked in the teleport directory,” said Mazhe, as he flipped through the growing index of places he now had bookmarked on his mobile.

“Here. I have it,” Brandon remembered, opening his. It was nothing for them to share locations—as simple as sending a text message.

“Great. All right, wish me luck,” said Mazhe. He then embraced Harry, and they shared a kiss, before he activated the teleport button, and vanished.

“Guess that means lunch is over,” said Eric, “We're returning to the VPR then.”

“Brandon, actually, I need you to stay,” said Justin, “It's to do with an idea I have. Harry, I want you to hear me out completely before you ask questions or voice opposition.”

“Oh. Well, all right.” Harry looked at Justin strangely.

“You'll probably think this idea's completely nuts, but... that's the beauty of it. Voldemort will never see it coming. But the end game is getting him an audience with Hermaeus Mora and one of those black books... _your_ end game, am I right?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Then this is what I have in mind...”

By the latter part of the afternoon, Harry found himself having tea with the Queen, as the plan was repeated. Without her support, the plan would never leave the drawing board, and all were in agreement on that. If the plan were to have any chance of working, it would require full-on support of the government.

“I have to say, Justin, this plot of yours is incredibly risky. Perhaps bordering on crazy. You're okay with the idea, Harry?” the Queen asked, idly stirring her tea.

“His plan _is_ crazy. And that's why I think it'll work. But as he also says, we will need the help of the government on this. Both in the execution of the plan, and clearing the air in the matter of my affairs once Tom Riddle is gone to grass and the dust settles. I guess that's the one concern, as small as it may be. This course of action will make me a pariah at minimum.

“Granted, at the end of the day I really don't give a rat's ass what the Wizarding world thinks of me—I don't really have a life here. I would see myself parted from the destiny I was saddled with. Justin put it best: Voldemort won't see it coming.”

“Your thoughts, Lieutenant Commander?”

“It's as sound a plan as any, your grace. If we can utilize the rest of the unit, and access the DOI's resources, it's more than do-able.”

“How soon would you want to put this in motion?”

“Frostfall begins in a week. Is that sufficient time?” Harry asked.

“Easily done,” said Brandon, “We have a rough plan, enough to get things rolling. We can fine-tune things as we go. Something you do need to think about, Harry, are the people you do care about in Wizarding England.”

“It's something I will have to think about, but I agree. There will come a time that I will see my friends removed from harm's way. When that time comes, I will need the Commonwealth's assistance.”

“Naturally. We'll see it done. The next question, then. How involved do you want to be?” asked the Queen.

“Very little in the beginning. I think there'll come a time my direct involvement will become a necessity. But not now.”

“I guess the one other matter, is about international affairs,” said Justin, “Knowing the way magical England treated Sirius Black when he escaped from Azkaban. The non-magical American authorities were on the lookout for him, just as were their English counterparts. So we'd have to be careful.”

“Why might that be—oh, yes,” said the Queen, smiling briefly, “It seems you've become attached to our facility in San Francisco.”

“Perhaps a little,” Harry agreed. “I think we're more than capable of hiding from the mundane authorities. Though if all goes as planned, the matter should be well behind us.”

“We'll keep an eye on things as far as the mundane authorities go,” said Brandon. “If it's truly dangerous, we'll avoid the mundane world altogether.”

“So we have a working plan, then,” said Justin.

“We offer all the resources available to Us. May it bring the end of the Dark Lord, for good this time,” the Queen proclaimed.

“Thank you, your majesty,” said Harry.

His mobile began to vibrate. He pulled it out.

“Mazhe?”

“ _Harry. I'm back at the cistern. Mercer's needing me to go with him to a tomb north of Windhelm. Remember that place we could never get into?_ ”

“Snow Veil Sanctum,” Harry remembered.

“ _Yeah. We're chasing after a former guild member. She murdered the previous guild master, and now she might be after Mercer._ ”

“I'll be right—“

“ _Harry. Mercer's with me. We'll be fine. But I'll call you if we run into trouble._ ”

“Please be careful. Call me at the first sign of trouble.”

“ _Count on it._ ” Hearing the 'click' on the other end, Harry closed his phone.

“Something happened?” Justin asked.

“No. Mazhe's going with Mercer Frey to deal with a rogue guild member. Nothing he can't handle.”

“Years ago, you would have bolted after him anyway,” said the Queen, looking amused.

“I had not the training I now have, your majesty. I have since learned to trust my training, and to trust my circle. They know what they are doing. For an enemy to get ahead of Mazhe? I wish the fool good luck on his fateful errand.”

* * *

Mazhe had not returned by the time Harry returned to the apartment. The afternoon had been spent discussing a few more details surrounding the plan, dubbed 'Operation Smokescreen'. That had spread to a private dinner.

A quick call, however, confirmed that he and Mercer were still combing through the ruin, and it was likely they would be some time yet. Knowing his partner was still well, and in good hands, Harry sought out the rest of his circle.

He found them in the playroom, and he nearly doubled over at the sight that he came upon. Crixus was tied to a chair, while Tommy's nieces sloppily applied various cosmetics to the man's face. Dardanos had already suffered such an indignity, although he seemed to take it in high spirits. Tommy stood off in the corner, smirking, while Eric didn't know what to think at this point. Miraak, meanwhile, seemed more than amused at what was going on. Now the question was, who had actually tied the former gladiator up?

“Hmmm. Uh, it seems we lack adult supervision,” Harry finally managed, at last recomposing himself. “Um. Where's Remus?”

“Went to Trevelyan,” said Eric, with a shrug, “he should be back in another hour or so.”

“Oh. Well...” Harry rolled his eyes. “Mischief managed.” He turned to leave.

“You do not free us?” asked Crixus.

“Why would I do that, and deprive miss Emily and miss Rosie such wonderful entertainment?” Harry smirked, turning around, “If you allowed yourself to become trapped by such young adversaries, then why should I provide rescue? Suffer consequences and see a lesson learned. Dardanos, what is the lesson you take from this?”

“Never underestimate your opponent, no matter who they might be.”

“So noted, Doctore,” said Crixus.

Harry shook his head, and retreated to his room, where he drew out a notepad and a pen. The plan would still need some of the fine details fleshed out... and what to do about his school friends? Brandon had a good point: they would need to be protected, particularly when things turned ugly. And there was no doubt. Eventually, things would get very ugly before they got better. Everything in the plan would result in most of the Wizarding world hating him—at least for a time. At least until everything was over and done, Voldemort sent off with Hermaeus Mora. Then... even after, the terrible things that were about to take place... there was no guarantee the public's perception could be changed.

To Harry, it really didn't matter. He would see Voldemort sent to Apocrypha, and his destiny would be put to grass, with Harry free to live out his life with Mazhe, in a world without expectations and demands. Perhaps he could work alongside Balimund—gods, how long had it been since he'd attended a lesson with the man? Perhaps—

His thoughts were interrupted, as he heard Mazhe calling for him from the common area. Harry tossed the notepad aside, and hurried out to the common room. He stopped in his tracks, realizing Mazhe had not come alone. He was in the company of a female dark elf dressed in a variant of the guild armour, something like that which Vipir the Fleet wore.

“What happened—and who's this?”

“Harry. Uh... complications at Snow Veil Sanctum. Get the rest of the circle.”

“It's bad,” Harry guessed.

“Treachery on a grand scale.”

“Guys!! Dining room, meeting!” Harry called out.

Under a minute later, everyone was gathered in the dining room. Crixus and Dardanos were still covered in sloppily-applied make-up. Mazhe arched an eyebrow at their appearance, but said, “First off. This is Karliah, a former guild member. Mercer Frey and I went to Snow Veil Sanctum... he led me to believe that Karliah here, murdered Gallus, the former guild master. Harry, actually, could you produce your pensieve? It would be better if you all just see what happened.”

“Sure.”

Harry held out a hand, and seconds later, a clay bowl came zooming in from another room. Karliah watched the strange magic with interest, as it came to rest at the centre of the table.

“I'll help draw the memory,” said Harry.

“Great. Any time you're ready.”

Harry pressed his index finger against Mazhe's temple, and pulled what looked like a white, gassy strand of hair away from his head, then dropped it in the pensieve.

“What are we about to see?” Justin asked.

“This is just before we encountered Karliah. Just play the memory, it should make sense.”

 

_Mazhe and Mercer were approaching a door similar to one Harry had seen back in Bleak Falls Burrow. Three rings, and a key hole. A puzzle door._

“ _Ah, it's one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors. How quaint,” Mercer sneered, “Without the matching claw, they're normally impossible to open. And since I'm certain Karliah already did away with it, we're on our own.”_

_Mercer rummaged in one of his many pockets, and from their angle, the object he produced looked like a key of some sort. He pressed it against the key stone._

“ _Fortunately, these doors have a weakness if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really.” He gave it a twist, and there came a loud 'clunk', as the three wheels spun wildly. The door then began to sink into the groove in the floor, revealing the chamber beyond._

“ _Karliah's close, I'm certain of it. Now let's get moving.”_

_The pair of them stepped through the opening, and then—_

_THWACK. Mazhe crumpled to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest. The unseen assailant became visible, bow drawn, another arrow knocked and ready to fire._

“ _Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?” Mercer sneered._

“ _Give me a reason to try,” Karliah answered._

_Mercer let out a sarcastic chuckle. “You're a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired.”_

“ _To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies,” Karliah quoted, “It was the first lesson Gallus taught us.”_

_Another sneer from Mercer. “You always were a quick study.”_

“ _Not quick enough. Otherwise Gallus would still be alive.”_

“ _Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way.”_

“ _Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales? Did you simply expect him to simply ignore your methods?”_

“ _Enough of this mindless banter!” Mercer roared, brandishing his sword, “Come, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!”_

_In one swift motion, Karliah had produced a potion, and consumed its contents. With a noisy pop, she vanished._

“ _I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence,” came her disembodied voice, “But I can promise the next time we meet, it will be your undoing.”_

_Mercer stalked back over to where Mazhe lay. He was completely paralysed, and to the casual observer, could be mistaken for dead._

“ _How interesting. It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself,” said Mercer, lightly, “Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you.”_

_He brandished his blade, and pointed it at Mazhe's chest._

“ _Farewell. I'll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards.”_

Harry felt himself die a little inside, seeing the blade penetrate his mate's chest. The scene changed.

_Karliah's face now filled the majority of the hologram, but that quickly changed, reflecting Mazhe's restored state of awareness._

“ _Easy, easy. Don't get up so quickly,” said Karliah, gently. “How are you feeling?”_

“ _Hang on... you shot me!” Mazhe hissed, but Karliah pressed him down._

“ _No, I saved your life. My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”_

“ _Then I'm in your debt. I... I'm Mazhe.”_

“ _How are you feeling?” Karliah again pressed._

“ _Well enough. You did fine patch work. You have my gratitude, and likely that of my partner when you meet him in about two minutes. We need to finish this conversation elsewhere. Treachery on a scale unimaginable. My mate and the rest of the circle will need to know exactly what's going on, as does the guild.”_

“ _Wait—“_

“ _Karliah. We don't know each other well, but... we know about some very dark treachery going on with the guild. I need the rest of the circle on board before we proceed.”_

“ _Very well.”_

_Mazhe produced his mobile, and accessed the teleport index._

“ _Take hold of my arm, and don't let go of it until I tell you to.”_

 

There, the memory ended. Mazhe found himself in a death grip, courtesy of his partner.

“Gods... you could've died!”

“And I didn't. Harry, I'm fine. Karliah took good care of me.”

Harry let go of him, and sighed, turning to face the newcomer.

“I... I guess I should say gratitude. I find myself eating words spoken only hours before, in the company of our Queen.”

“Life has a funny way of coming back to bite us in the ass,” said Justin, shaking his head. “Getting off track here.”

“What was your reason for travelling to Snow Veil Sanctum in the first place?” Harry asked.

“My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn't simply for irony's sake,” Karliah answered.

She reached into her satchel, and withdrew a leather bound journal.

“Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus's remains. I suspect the information we need is written inside.” 

She looked frustrated as she opened it, and lay it on the table in front of Mazhe.

“Gods. What... what sort of language is this? Harry? Care to have a look?”

Harry glanced at the strange symbols, and was equally confused.

“My guess... it looks Elven. Dwemer, maybe?” Harry guessed. “Someone at the College might know.”

It was like a light had come on.

“Enthir... Gallus's friend at the College of Winterhold. Of course! It's the only outsider Gallus trusted with the knowledge of his Nightingale identity.”

Harry let out a snicker. “Gods... why does that not surprise me, that he'd be involved with the guild?”

“You know him?”

“Quite well. I was... well, I guess I still am, uh, sort of a student at the College. So yes, we know each other quite well.”

“We did give him a mobile,” said Justin.

“What's this 'Nightingale'? You've said it before,” said Mazhe.

“There were three of us. Myself, Gallus and Mercer. We were a anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild. That, by the way, must remain a secret.”

“It shall remain a secret, then. Gods... the number of things we know of that we shouldn't. Borders on criminal,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Mazhe, ring up Enthir. Take a snapshot of the page, maybe he might make sense of it.”

“Worth a shot. If not, we can easily pop over to the College and speak to him in person.”

“This way of travel, it's extraordinary,” said Karliah.

“Like you have your secrets, we have ours. These—“ said Mazhe, showing the phone, “—are one of them.”

He held the mobile over the open journal, and snapped a couple of pictures of them, before pulling up the contact list. He then keyed in a message, and sent it, along with the pictures.

Moments later, his mobile rang.

“Enthir. You're on speaker.”

“ _It's the Falmer language,”_ came Enthir's voice, _“What's it from?_ ”

“It's Gallus' journal,” said Karliah.

“ _You finally found it?_ ” Enthir let out a chuckle. “ _This is just like Gallus. A dear friend, but always too clever for his own good._ ”

“The important thing, can it be translated?”

“ _I know someone who might. The court wizard of Markarth, Calcelmo, may have the materials you need to get the journal translated. A word of warning. Calcelmo is a fierce guardian of his research. Getting the information won't be easy._ ”

“We'll uncover means. Gratitude, Enthir,” said Harry.

“ _Stay safe. And Karliah. Good to hear from you again._ ”

“Likewise.”

The connection closed.

“Guess I'm off to Markarth—“

“ _WE'RE_ off to Markarth,” Harry corrected, waspishly, “You think after what just happened, I'm letting you go off on your own again? _Meyus jul—_ Foolish man! You'll have to see me to the afterlife first!”

Mazhe blew out a breath. “Guess I should expect that.” He thought for a moment. “We need someone to keep an eye on things in the Flagon and the cistern. Not a word to anyone at this point. If Mercer shows up... call us at once.”

“Tommy and I can handle it,” said Justin, “Tommy won't be out of place at the Flagon, while I can disappear.”

“And we'll be coming along to Markarth,” said Brandon, firmly, “Unexpected danger and all that.”

“If it is acceptable, I will wait here,” said Karliah.

“It's perfectly fine. Uh, actually, Eric, you mind sticking around? The guild does have walk-in privileges here. Anyone comes by, just give us a call,” said Mazhe.

“Makes sense,” Eric agreed.

“Right. Best put hands and minds to purpose.” Harry produced his mobile, and began searching the teleport list.

* * *

They appeared just inside the main gates to the city. From there, it was a walk up to Understone Keep, which had been built into the side of the cliffs. Markarth itself had been built in an enormous notch cut out of the land, the cliffs going up on all but one side, making it naturally defensible. If anything, Harry thought the city had a rather cold, inhospitable feeling to it.

Quiet inquiries had them enter a large chamber with a stream flowing through it. There, they found the object of their query, idly chatting with a younger mage.

“Master Calcelmo. If we could have a word,” said Mazhe.

The man in question turned around. He was tall, like most Altmer were. He cast his eyes on the party, and frowned, looking annoyed.

“What do you want?! Can't you see I'm busy?”

Harry could see at once the man was going to be difficult, and so while Mazhe retrieved the journal, providing the perfect distraction, Harry discreetly gestured with a finger, whispering, “ _Confundus_ .”

Calcelmo blinked a moment, looking confused.

“What did you want? Oh, yes. Let me see it a moment.”

Mazhe was momentarily confused as well, but passed over the journal.

“Ah, of course,” Calcelmo said, glancing at the first page, “This is written in the language of the Falmer.”

“As we already know. Are you able to help us translate it?” asked Harry.

“Not here. But do follow me. I have something that may help.”

A quarter of an hour later, they stood in what looked like Calcelmo's private quarters.

“I don't ordinarily allow visitors into my laboratory. I expect what you see here to remain secret.”

“Of course,” said Mazhe.

“Now. You see that carved stone up there?” Calcelmo pointed to a nearly white carved stone which rested on the upper balcony. “The text carved into it provides translation between the Falmer language and the common language. I leave it up to you to figure a way to see it copied.”

“We can take pictures of it,” said Harry, “We'll send you the copies if you like.”

“That would be wonderful, though I am lost on how you can—“ Calcelmo stopped speaking when Brandon snapped a picture of them using his mobile.

“It's rather unique technology.”

“I'll say! By the Eight, do you realize how much work such a thing would save?”

“We know very well, sir,” said Harry, “I know Tolfdir has been making great use of the mobiles we've passed him. Documenting artefacts from our excavation at Saarthal has become effortless.”

“We'll have to speak with Justin. Maybe he can set Calcelmo up with a mobile of his own,” said Brandon, “It's the least we can do for his help here.”

Within a half hour, Mazhe had taken dozens of pictures of the enormous stone, capturing the inscribed text in perfect detail. Calcelmo was fascinated by the idea, considering it usually took hours to document a single artefact. Here, this group of people were able to completely and accurately document an item within minutes. Of course, the Falmer translation stone was no small object, and so took longer, but... the record they collected was a perfect virtual representation! If they gave him one of those... gadgets... the quality of his research would grow exponentially.

* * *

Returning to the apartment, they found Brynjolf had wandered in, and now stood glaring at the former guild member. The rest of the occupants had moved between them so nothing more could come of the encounter.

“Guys! Enough,” Harry snapped, “Brynjolf, have a look at the memory in the pensieve—“ he gestured to the clay bowl resting on the table. “Our esteemed guild master is a traitor and a murderer, and we have proof.”

Brynjolf arched an eyebrow, but went into the dining room.

“Did you get the translation?” Karliah asked, hopeful.

“Not directly. We have a means of translating it, but... I think we need Enthir to do it. You trust him?” asked Mazhe.

“Absolutely.”

Mazhe produced his mobile, and sent a text message, along with one of the pictures we took of the stone.

Only moments later, there came a blur near the entrance, and Enthir quickly regained his bearings.

“Intriguing. Calcelmo was cooperative?” he asked.

“Very. Though we'll need to give him one of our mobile phones. I think he wanted to make love to mine,” said Mazhe, shaking his head.

“Disturbing,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Meantime... guess we need Justin's help on this, since he's got the equipment to make copies.”

“No, we should be able to do... well... Mazhe, can I see your mobile a sec.?” asked Brandon. Mazhe passed over his mobile, and Brandon pressed a button on the side. “These things have an expand feature. Here.”

Another button press had the mobile change into a tablet, and expand to three times its size.

“I can make it bigger if you need.”

“N-no, that is perfectly acceptable,” said Enthir, looking over Brandon's shoulder. “If you could show me how it's done, and send copies of the pictures, I can get to work.”

“How much time will you need?”

“I can't be certain.”

“We need this as quickly as possible,” said Karliah, glancing at the dining room, where Brynjolf was still frozen in front of the pensieve.

“I'll do my best.”

With Enthir choosing to occupy the opposite end of the table in the dining room, the rest of the group settled into seats in the common room.

“No matter what's in Gallus' journal, it doesn't change the fact that Mercer has to be dealt with,” said Mazhe, “The man's murdered Gallus, he tried to kill both Karliah and I, the gods only know what other sort of damage he's done.”

“Agreed. He has to be stopped, before he can do further damage to the guild. And if my suspicions are correct, he wields immense power, and will be very difficult to stop.”

“How long has he been in charge?” asked Brandon.

“Twenty five years. He was guild second before that,” answered Karliah.

“And it was then that the guild began to decline,” said Mazhe, “Tell me if I'm wrong.”

“No, you would be spot on, lad.” Everyone turned to find Brynjolf standing in the doorway leading into the dining room. “After seeing what he tried to do, it all makes sense. Karliah, you have my apologies, lass.”

“It is not necessary, Brynjolf. All that matters is that we uncover the truth.”

“And when we catch up to the _nivahriin mey_ , we will know all of his dirty little secrets. I'll be asking him some very direct questions while he is under the influence of Veritaserum—in front of the entire membership of the guild,” said Harry, viciously.

“Mercer won't be taken alive,” said Karliah.

“Want to bet on it? The lot of us, versus one man? I don't care what sort of power he wields. We—all of us—confronted and destroyed Alduin himself on the threshold of Sovngarde. So unless Mercer Frey is some sort of god, he will pale in comparison,” said Mazhe. “I am _Dovahkiin_. I'll shout him nearly to pieces if I have to.”

“We need him alive,” said Harry, again.

An hour later, Enthir called everyone into the dining room.

“I won't have a complete translation for you, but I can give you a basic summary. Is that sufficient?”

“As long as it covers the main points,” Karliah answered.

“It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey's allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls a, quote, '...unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures'.”

“Does the journal say where this wealth was coming from?”

“Three guesses, the first two don't count,” Tommy snorted.

“And Gallus had similar thoughts,” said Enthir, “he was certain Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge.”

“And what about the Nightingales?” asked Karliah.

“Gallus mentions something about... 'the failure of the Nightingales', though he doesn't elaborate. He also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher.”

“Shadows preserve us. So it's true...”

“I'm not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it? What... what's Mercer Frey _done_?” Enthir looked angry.

“I'm sorry Enthir. There are some things that must remain secret. Even this number of people is more than I'm comfortable with.”

“It's all right, Karliah, you don't have to say a word.”

Enthir turned to Mazhe.

“Listen, all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can and I'd consider it a personal favour.”

“We'll see it done. We know, and now Brynjolf knows. We'll see that Karliah's name is cleared as well.”

They waited for Enthir to collect his notes, and vanish, before Brynjolf spoke up.

“Though I'm convinced of the truth, lass, we still need to be certain. We'll need to open the vault.”

“Then let's go. Have both Vex and Delvin join us,” said Mazhe, “they need to see this treachery for themselves.”

“Delvin will join us as it is, he's the only other person with a key, aside from myself and Mercer.”

“Can his key be revoked?” asked Harry.

“No.”

“Crixus, Dardanos, and Tommy. I would have you three remain in the cistern to keep watch. Should the bastard show himself, contact us at once,” said Mazhe.

“I would join them,” Miraak offered.

“Agreed. Brandon and Eric, you guys watch the Ragged Flagon.”

“If he's spotted?”

“We need him alive. Feel free to curse him to Oblivion and back, just make sure he's alive,” said Mazhe, nastily.

They left the apartment, and entered the Ragged Flagon.

“Delvin, Vex. We have some bad business afoot, and need to open the vault,” said Brynjolf.

“What sort of business?” asked Delvin, setting down his mug of mead. The pair of them joined the group.

“Mercer's been stealing from the vault for years,” answered Brynjolf, gravely.

“How can Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys? It's impossible,” Delvin protested, “Could he pick his way in?”

Vex shook her head. “That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy. There's no way it can be picked open.”

“He didn't need to pick the lock,” answered Karliah, as they passed into the cistern itself.

“What's she on about?”

“Use your key on the vault, Delvin. We'll open it up and find out the truth,” said Brynjolf, with finality.

While the rest of the guild membership looked on, Delvin approached the large metal doors of the vault, and produced his key. He pushed it into the lock, and turned it, then gave the door a shove. It remained closed and locked.

“I've used my key, but the vault's still locked up tighter than a drum. Now use yours.”

Brynjolf stepped up to the doors, and produced his key. This time, the doors swung inward, and both Brynjolf and Delvin sucked in a sharp breath at the sight the found within it.

“By the Eight...”

Harry peered into the vault, and felt white-hot anger lick his insides. The chests inside, at least the few left behind, lay open, bereft of their contents. Perhaps a few Septims lay on the floor, and perhaps a few worthless weapons, but that was it. The vault was nearly bare. Nearly two years that Harry had been a member, contributing thousands of Septims to the coffers—all of it gone.

“The gold... the jewels... it's all gone!” Delvin exclaimed, a pained look crossing his face.

Vex, meanwhile, was furious, drawing her blade. “That son-of-a-bitch! I'll kill him!”

“Vex! Put it away... _right now_. We can't afford to lose our heads... we need to calm down and focus,” said Brynjolf, trying to calm himself down. As guild second, it fell to him to keep everyone else in line at this point.

“Do what he says, Vex. This isn't helpin' right now,” said Delvin.

“Fine,” Vex huffed, putting her blade back in its sheath, “We do it your way. For now.”

“Delvin... Vex... the pair of you join the rest of Harry's circle and watch the Flagon. If Mercer shows up, come tell me right away.” 

Brynjolf turned to Mazhe.

“Meanwhile, I have an important task for you.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to break into Mercer's home and search for anything that could tell us where he's gone.”

“Mercer has a place here?” Harry questioned.

“Aye. A gift from the Black-Briars after they kicked the previous family out... place called Riftweald Manor. He never stays there, just pays for the upkeep on it. Hired some lout by the name of Vald to guard the place.”

“I'll see it done,” said Mazhe.

“Be careful, lad. It's the last place in Skyrim I'd ever want to send you. Just get in, get the information and leave. And you have permission to kill anyone that gets in your way.”

“How do I get in?”

“Good question. I've only set foot inside a few times myself and that was in Mercer's company. If you can get past his trained watchdog, I think your best bet might be the ramp to the second floor balcony in his backyard.”

“And I don't suppose the ramp is easy access.”

“No. It's some sort of crazy contraption Mercer commissioned for quick escapes. I'd wager a well-placed shot at the ramp's mechanism would lower it in a hurry.”

Mazhe smirked. “So a blade through Vald's eye socket, and an arrow to drop the ramp. I'll return shortly.” He briefly embraced Harry, then took off.

“Harry,” said Brynjolf, “Meanwhile, I would have you have a look around, ask around, see if anyone's—“

“Wait,” Harry interrupted him, “It takes hours to get from Windhelm to Riften. Mercer's likely still on his way back here. We simply lie in wait for him.”

“Aye, a good plan. I still forget you have such a unique way of travel.”

“As do you. It makes travel so much quicker. Think of how this may have played out, had Mazhe not been able to return so quickly. What sort of lies would have fallen from Mercer's treacherous tongue?”

After a tense half-hour wait, Mazhe returned. He produced a set of journals and notes.

“Mercer wasn't there, but I found these journals and notes in his office.”

Brynjolf took the journal and leafed through it. He gave a start.

“Shor's beard, he's going after the Eyes of the Falmer. That was Gallus' pet project.”

“It won't matter,” said Harry, “He obviously had plans of returning here first. He comes in here, we've got him.”

“We've sent additional SOU to scout for his location,” said Brandon. He stood near the tunnel leading back out to the Ragged Flagon.

“have they reported back?” Harry asked.

“Not yet.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Have them tag him with a tracking charm once they catch up with him. That way should he do something unexpected, we can still find him.”

“Good thinking, Harry. I'll send a message.”

“No matter what,” Karliah said, “There is one matter we haven't dealt with. Mercer is a Nightingale, an agent of Nocturnal. We have to be very careful.”

“And 'we' are agents of Hermaeus Mora. He has his power, and we have ours,” said Harry, simply.

“In other words, when we have our answers from the bastard, we'll stick a bow on his head and present him as a lovely gift to the daedric prince of forbidden knowledge. I'm sure he'll take pleasure in plucking the thoughts and secrets from Mercer's head,” said Mazhe, viciously.

“A fate worse than death. And a warning to never cross us.”

The other members of the guild standing around watching the conversation visually shivered at the frosty declaration.

Karliah folded her arms across her chest, looking frustrated. “Yet the pair of you still have no understanding of the power Mercer wields. There are still details I haven't shared yet, and really cannot. Just know that he can tap into virtually unlimited power. Against that, we don't stand a chance.”

“Then how do we face him?”

“Mazhe, Brynjolf. I would have the pair of you meet me beside an old standing stone just to the south of the city. There we will be able to seek the advantage we need to meet Mercer head on.”

“But—“

“Harry. I think we can trust Karliah,” said Mazhe. “If Mercer shows up before we get back—“

“He won't go anywhere. Go then, gain this advantage. I still believe it unnecessary. We do have the element of surprise.”

They were gone about a half hour. When Mazhe returned, he looked excited, for lack of a better word.

“What happened?”

“We spoke to Nocturnal herself! Can you believe it? I... Shor's beard, I'm on cloud nine.”

“Really?” Harry embraced his mate. “I'm happy for you. I know... she's your patron deity and all.”

“Uh... exactly. I think... everything's gonna be okay. I mean, come on, guys. We've faced Alduin himself. Mercer's no god... not even in the same league.”

“We'll face him as one. Let's relax. It should look like it's business as usual. Uh, close the vault,” Harry decided.

“Good thinking, lad. Well? What are you waiting for?! Get to it!” Brynjolf snapped, to the room at large.

It was like a switch had been turned on, as the membership quickly moved off, returning to their normal activities. Niruin and Vipir made for the vault, and pulled the doors closed—it had the added benefit of hiding the fact that the vault was actually empty.

“Karliah and Mazhe, both of you should be out of sight.”

“Right. If you wouldn't mind loaning Karliah your cloak,” Mazhe suggested, “I have other ways of remaining out of sight.”

“Good thinking.” Harry dug in his rucksack, and pulled out his invisibility cloak. “This is a family heirloom. Treat it well.”

“Shadows preserve us!” Karliah was astounded, as Harry demonstrated the cloak's feature.

“I keep telling the lad, if he were to accept more work, he would be filthy rich with that cloak,” said Brynjolf.

“And we've been over that enough, 'Bryn. I'm happy with the amount of work I do as it is. Counting all of you as family is the true reward,” Harry answered, before passing the cloak over.

Karliah looked it over a moment, before slinging it over her shoulders, and vanishing.

“The heists I could pull off with such a cloak, it's astounding,” came her disembodied voice.

“Well, I do know my dad got into all sorts of mischief at the school he attended as a boy,” said Harry, smirking.

It was then Brandon re-entered the cistern.

“Mercer's been spotted a few miles north of Shor's Stone,” he reported, “The carriage stopped for the night.”

“So he won't be back into the cistern until morning. Uh... what if we could get more guys watching topside?” Harry wondered.

“It only takes a phone call. Though the Queen probably would never approve of resources being used to assist a criminal element,” said Brandon. He smirked as he said it, though.

* * *

It was after dawn the following morning when everyone was awakened by Brandon.

“He's entered the city. He's coming through the entrance in the cemetery.”

“Places everyone. Or... well, act normal. And relax!” said Mazhe. He and Harry had spent the night in the cistern itself—considering there was a bed reserved for them.

Mazhe once again vanished, while Karliah donned Harry's invisibility cloak. Only seconds later, there was the scraping of the hatch that led up to the cemetery, and footsteps on the ladder. Then, seconds after, Mercer stepped into the cistern itself.

“Brynjolf. Most unfortunate business. Karliah attacked us at Snow Veil Sanctum. Your new protege won't be returning, he was killed when she ambushed us.”

“H-how... where...” Harry was a great actor, feigning shock and upset.

“Come, now, Harry. You know the risks,” Mercer said, coldly, “Up until now, I've allowed you to pick and choose what sort of work you take, since he more than made up for it.

“Now I expect you to do exactly _what_ we say, _when_ we say. Is that in any way unclear?”

“Yeah. I understand you perfectly clear.” In the blink of an eye, Harry brought a hand up. “ _Stupefy_.”

Being a Breton, Mercer was most certainly resistant to some forms of magic. Harry knew better than to try using the magic he'd learned in Tamriel—Harry had learned that the hard way, sparring with Mazhe. He had to be sure, and so relied on what he'd learned at Hogwarts, and from the Commonwealth. It worked like a charm, and the guild master collapsed in a heap.

That was the cue for Mazhe and Karliah to reveal themselves. Moments later, Brandon, Eric, and the rest of Harry's circle arrived. Mercer was forced onto a chair, and it was Eric who bound him in heavy conjured cords. Brandon, meanwhile, produced a vial of Veritaserum. He carried some in his kit since the incident back in Harry's fourth year concerning Barty Crouch, Jr.

“Your show, Harry.”

“Right. Everyone gather around, so you all know the truth of what's really going on here. _Rennervate_.”

Mercer opened his eyes, but still looked dazed from the magical attack. After all, Harry had power in spades. His curses hurt.

“Good of you to rejoin us, guild master,” said Mazhe, a nasty smirk on his face. Harry stood to his right, while Karliah stood to his right. All of them looked furious.

Mercer was in a panic. The key was secured in one of his pouches, and, he realized, he was bound almost painfully tight to a chair. 'No matter what they might suspect, they won't learn anything by it,' he smirked, in his head.

He was shocked when Harry said, “He believes we won't learn anything. Lieutenant Commander McAllister. I think we might need to apply a little persuasion.”

“Your threats mean _nothing_!” Mercer roared.

“We'll see, traitor,” Harry hissed, while Brandon un-stoppered the vial. “Now open your mouth.”

“No.”

“No? Perhaps this will loosen the tongue. _Crucio_ ,” Brandon hissed, wand practically vibrating in his hand.

PAIN. Pain, pain,  _pain_ . Unimaginable, terrible, unmitigated  _pain_ bloomed into Mercer's very soul. The rest of those present shifted very uncomfortably, hearing the man screaming his lungs out. Dardanos and Crixus, meanwhile, had a very good idea of exactly what sort of pain the man was experiencing, given what they had experienced at the summoning of the Eye of Magnus. It did little to mitigate the discomfort.

Brandon ended the curse, and Mercer collapsed, heaving.

“Bloody hell,” Harry managed, “That's illegal!”

“We carry authority to use it if necessary,” answered Eric, “You want answers, don't you?”

Harry blew out a breath. It certainly didn't set him at ease. No matter, they would deal with the fallout from that later. For now... “Open your mouth,” he spoke, calmly.

This time, Mercer was more than willing, and he opened his mouth. Brandon allowed three drops of the potion to fall into it, before re-stoppering the vial.

“Now we wait a minute or so, for the potion to take effect.”

“Gods... still can't believe you just used an unforgivable, Brandon,” said Harry, shaking his head, “Whether authorized to do it or not, it still curses your soul!”

“Harry. My soul has been cursed many times over. I'm a soldier. It's part of what I do. I do the shit that Joe Public would spit on me for, but yet are thankful I'm willing to do it. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.”

“It's about making the tough decisions... the shit decisions that... no matter what you want... it ends up with people getting hurt—“

“Or sent to the afterlife,” said Crixus.

“Yes, exactly. Sometimes, we don't have a choice. Sometimes, we just have to do what's necessary.”

“The end justifies the means,” said Mazhe.

“Exactly. And I'm not talking about some whiskered nutjob's version of the greater good... but the true greater good. What is truly best for everyone,” said Brandon.

“Right. I guess...” 

Harry blew out another breath, and turned his attention back to Mercer.

“Did you murder Gallus?”

“Yes.”

“Did you remove the Skeleton Key from its lock in the Twilight Sepulchre?” asked Karliah.

“Yes.”

“Do you have it on you?” came Harry's question.

“Yes.”

“ _Accio_ Skeleton Key,” said Harry, raising a hand. There was a shifting of the ropes, and the strange key zoomed out, to smack into his hand. The key end indeed looked like that of an old-fashioned skeleton key. The handle was ovular in shape, and somewhat resembled the Orb of Magnus, a deep blue-green shade.

“Mazhe...”

“Thanks.” Mazhe took the key, and shoved it into his pocket.

“ _Accio_ vault key.” There was a second vibration, and a much smaller key smacked into his hand. “Brynjolf. You should—“

“No. That one goes to Mazhe.”

Mazhe arched an eyebrow, but accepted the vault key.

“Did you attempt to murder Mazhe?” Harry asked.

“Yes.”

That got a vicious smirk from the young wizard. “That will seal your fate. One final question. Where did you stow the contents of the vault?”

“There is a Dwemer ruin east of Markarth called Arkngthamz(1). The instability of it keeps casual intruders away.”

“Though we could just use the Skeleton Key... is the area keeping the contents locked in any way?”

“I have a key, yes. Upper pouch on my bandolier,” Mercer answered.

“ _Accio_ key,” Harry intoned. The required key zoomed into his hand.

“Any further questions?” Brandon asked. With no answer, he applied the antidote.

“Now that you've weaselled the truth out of me, what do you plan to accomplish?” Mercer sneered, “The guild is ruined, as it should have been long ago! What... what's Karliah been filling your head with? Tales of honour?! Nocturnal doesn't care about you, and she certainly doesn't care about the guild!”

“No. I disagree,” said Harry, “Knowing the truth is an important step. The next, involves dealing out justice. I'm sure the membership would likely prefer to take your head and be done with it.

“I, however, feel death would be too easy. You've betrayed the very people who are supposed to be your family. No better than a father murdering his children! You're supposed to be a leader, not some cowardly snake in the grass with murder in his heart! No, your fate will be something far worse than death.”

“I do not fear Nocturnal,” Mercer spat.

“Oh, no. You don't deserve her tender mercies,” Mazhe smirked, “During our meeting with our dark mistress, I mentioned Harry's proposition on how to mete out justice to you. She fully sanctions the action Harry is about to take.”

On cue, Harry reached into his rucksack, and pulled out 'Waking Dreams'. He touched a finger to its spine, whispering, “May the owner of this book claim the next soul to open it, to forever walk the realm of Apocrypha.”

“A book?!” Mercer mocked, “You are forcing me to read a book? I always suspected you were a little off your nut, boy.”

“I'm no boy. And this is not just any book. And yes, I'm forcing you to read it.” 

Harry gestured with a hand, and Mercer suddenly felt the compulsion taking hold... the desire to read the heavy tome in Harry's hands, from beginning to end. He found the heavy cords vanish, and his hands were already moving...  _must... read_ . 

Mercer tried to fight the compulsion, but it was too strong. Harry, of course, helped things by bringing the book over. And it was in his hands... opening... yes... and a sickly, oily tentacle exploded from the book, to impale him through the chest, while a cloud of eyes appeared nearby.

“Ah, Harry. You cross paths with a dark mistress with this offering,” said Hermaeus Mora, amused, “This one has many secrets, and I shall take pleasure in learning each and every one of them.”

“This action has the sanction of Nocturnal, my lord,” said Mazhe, with a bow.

“Indeed?”

“Another _nivahriin mey_ who stomped on my dick nerve, sir. Now he lives and dies at your pleasure,” Harry smirked.

Mercer's eyes were darting around, a terrified look on his face, as he now understood  _exactly_ what Harry had meant, about a fate worse than death. There came a crackling sizzle, and Mercer vanished, the book falling to the ground with a noisy 'smack'.

“You please me yet again, Harry,” said Hermaeus Mora, with a chuckle.

“As long as there are fools who continue to cross me, sir.”

“Indeed. Happy hunting, young mage.” The cloud of eyes vanished.

For several moments, no one moved, virtually paralysed at what they'd just seen.

“I... never... Shadows preserve us...” Karliah muttered.

“If a hair's breath of what has just transpired here becomes knowledge outside of this cistern, I will discover the one responsible, and they will suffer an identical fate. Is that in any way unclear?” Harry's voice carried loudly and clearly over the room, only to be met with silence.

“He demands an answer!” Mazhe barked.

“My lips are sealed,” came Vipir's voice. Others quickly joined in with a similar promise.

“All right. Back to work!” Brynjolf commanded. 

More muttering from the gathered group, but everyone began to go off to tend to their own matters. Both Vex and Delvin headed back toward the Ragged Flagon, leaving the circle still gathered at the desk.

“One thing that remains to be done,” said Karliah, “The Skeleton Key must be returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulchre.”

“Where is it located?” Mazhe asked, producing his mobile. He changed it into tablet form, then pulled up the map.

“Can you make it larger?” Karliah asked, pointing to a location west of Falkreath. 

A few gestures with a finger had the map zoomed in on the desired location.

“You'll find it here. And though I know all of you would want to join him, only Mazhe will be allowed into the interior. Outsiders are not permitted.”

“We can travel with him to the entrance,” said Harry.

“And it's not optional,” said Mazhe, “They either come with us, or you can return the key yourself.”

Karliah huffed, but gave a curt nod.

“Great. I think we have a teleport point close to it. A fort—ah, here we are,” said Mazhe, touching the location with a finger. “Those of you coming with, link arms.”

“I will stay here to keep a lid on things. Good luck, lad,” said Brynjolf.

The large group vanished with a blur of limbs, only to land a moment later outside of Cracked Tusk Keep, a fort that had been up until recently occupied by Orc bandits. The fort now lay deserted.

From there, it was an hour's walk to the Sepulchre, punctuated by a few encounters, none of which providing any sort of real challenge. Even the dragon that decided to intrude on the party was brought down rather swiftly, with Mazhe absorbing the soul.

“Hey Mazhe... ever think of trying to make weapons or armour out of their bones?” Harry asked, as they continued, leaving the carcass behind.

“Uh, I don't know. That question would probably be better answered by Balimund, or Eorland Grey-mane,” Mazhe answered.

Finally, they arrived at the entrance to a tomb, almost completely hidden by the overhanging rocks. Other than the door itself, there was really no indication the site existed. Without Karliah present, it likely would have taken much longer to locate it. Mazhe once again embraced his mate, before disappearing inside.

A half hour later, Karliah shifted as though feeling something.

“He's made it into the heart of the chamber. I'm going in to meet him, we'll return shortly.” Before Harry could protest, Karliah too, vanished into the tomb.

“Gods... so much secrecy,” Harry muttered.

“And we wield secrets of our own,” said Dardanos.

“I guess.”

“You worry for his well-being. Harry, the man is almost a mirror of you in so many ways.”

“Think of it this way,” said Tommy, “Another pile of bullshit that we put an end to.”

“Thing is we really didn't need it. Considering the plot that's about to unfold back in our own world,” said Harry.

“We've got something planned for the beginning of next month. So Harry's right,” said Brandon, “We need you guys back into a routine, instead of running all over the province.”

“No arguments there,” said Tommy, “Last while for us has been... intense.”

“And you both realize it's going to get worse before it gets better,” Eric pointed out, “Things won't settle down until Voldemort is done with.”

“How long you figure it will take, 'fore he decides to contact Harry?” Tommy asked.

“A couple of months at minimum,” Brandon guessed, “Once he believes beyond reasonable doubt that Harry's truly abandoned the light.”

“We're guessing probably sometime in the spring before we hear anything from him. Worst case scenario, Voldemort doesn't take the bait,” Eric threw in.

“In that case, then we resort to more drastic measures. Polyjuice can get us into a lot of places.”

Harry remained silent, listening to the rest of the circle discuss the matter. Eric did pose a frightening scenario. The grand plan they were hatching depended on Voldemort's perception. If the plan failed, then what? He mentally sighed. Too much to think about.

Just then, the door to the ruin opened, and Mazhe appeared, with Karliah trailing.

“It is done,” he announced.

“No problems?” Harry asked, as the pair again embraced.

“None that I could not handle. Let's get back to the cistern, so we can let Brynjolf know, and—“

“Perhaps some wine to celebrate,” Dardanos suggested.

“I like his train of thought. I would see it done,” Harry agreed.

It was Justin who carried them all back to the Ragged Flagon via port key. Karliah at once disappeared into the cistern to find Brynjolf, while Mazhe spoke to Vekel. Only a minute later, Karliah returned, with Brynjolf in tow.

“It is done then?” asked the guild second.

“It is done. The key has been restored to its lock.”

“That's it then. After all of those years of helplessly watching the Guild decline.” Brynjolf gave a warm smile. “But enough of that... I'm confident that with you in charge, we'll soon have more gold than we could possibly spend.”

“What—wait. Me? In charge?” Mazhe sputtered.

“Mazhe. It is thanks to you that Mercer's treachery was exposed. The guild is well on its way to being restored to its previous glory, so both Karliah and I are in agreement that it should be you to lead it.”

“But...”

Harry couldn't help but laugh. “Come on, mate. It's your nature. You're a smashing mage, and a better thief, you and I both know it.”

“I... uh...”

“You still have a bit of work to do yet,” said Brynjolf, “Once we reestablish a footing in all of the major cities in the province, then we can make it official.”

“But... what about you?” Mazhe tried, “I mean... gods... not exactly leader material—“

Brynjolf only smiled and shook his head. “I've been at this game a long time, my friend. A long time. I've stolen trinkets from nobles and framed priests for murder. I'm good at what I do, maybe even one of the best. But it's all I know. I've never been one to lead. Never desired it, never cared for it. Don't want it.”

Mazhe let out a sigh, but grinned. “Very well. I... I guess you'll let me know when the time comes.”

“Just keep on with the work you've done for us.”

“Right,” said Harry, “Let this be the beginning of a new era for our family. May the dark days fall behind us. Wine for everyone to mark this occasion!”

Needless to say, no one was in much shape to do anything the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _CHAPTER NOTES: Lots of dialogue here that's verbatim from the game. Adjusted in places to fit changes in the events and so on. Also, considering they have a method for quickly getting to many locations within the province, things don't take days here. The Thieves Guild main quest can take many days to complete, factoring in travel._   
> _Additionally, a number of things veer away from canon here, since, once again, they're able to get back to the guild before Mercer returned. So no trek to Irkngthand. Mazhe still had to become a Nightingale, though, since the final job requires him to be. Not just anyone can step into the Twilight Sepulchre._   
> _(1) Arkngthamz – a Dwemer ruin introduced with the Dawnguard expansion. Mercer is not kidding when he says the place is unstable—it's probably one of the most unstable ruins in the game. It's part of the side quest “Lost to the Ages”. Most certainly, Harry and his friends will be doing that one, since they will most definitely want to recover the missing contents of the guild vault. Not to mention, the Aertherium Forge in Bthalft represents an insanely deep underground complex—Katriah remarks about this when the player steps off the elevator inside. The Commonwealth will have great interest in this in the future._


	36. The Game is Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commonwealth sets things in motion to help Harry deal with Voldemort once and for all; Harry meanwhile, takes steps to protect a number of supporters from England.

**36: THE GAME IS AFOOT**

**October 1, 2006 – End of March, 2007**

* * *

_2 Frostfall, 4E201 / 2 October, 2006_

The past week had once again seen a return to a more regular schedule. While there were a few guild assignments that punctuated the daily routine, Harry resumed his level six review. Justin wasn't quite ready to have him sit his level six exams just yet, but promised to do so at the end of the month.

As of late, the day typically ended with Harry and his friends taking dinner in the Ragged Flagon. The events of the past week had brought Harry and Mazhe a little closer to the guild, and so this was becoming a bit of a routine.

So it was, Harry was just about to dig into his meal, when an owl fluttered in from the direction of the apartment. It landed rather awkwardly on the table, nearly spilling Mazhe's drink. It had a paper in its beak.

“Unfortunate we can't have the newspaper just sent to our mobiles,” Mazhe muttered, a hand firmly gripping his mug before it fell.

Harry could only nod in agreement as he reached into his rucksack and summoned a few coins—six knuts—and placed them in the small leather pouch affixed to the owl's leg. The bird let out an appreciative chirp, and took off, this time sending Harry's mug to the floor.

“Perhaps the bird offers sage advice,” said Crixus, from the next table over.

“And I'll have it stuffed,” Harry muttered.

“And you have to pay for it now?” Vekel asked, as he placed a fresh bottle of mead on the table.

“Only if it's got something important—something that pertains to me,” Harry explained, as he lay the paper out beside his plate. “And... yeah, this pertains to me.”

A large moving picture took up the upper part of the front page, depicting non-magical emergency services cleaning up after what was clearly a fire of epic proportions. The caption in large letters below it read:  _INFERNO IN LONDON_

In smaller print below it, the subtitle:  _Four city blocks destroyed after explosion, 'Unusual' message discovered in wreckage._

_Muggle emergency services worked for nearly fourteen hours to extinguish a massive fire in central London yesterday, after an explosion rocked an apartment block. Eyewitness accounts all report seeing a green flash, just before the explosion that rang out just after the conclusion of the morning rush hour. The Ministry was quick to dispatch officials from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, in the event the cause was magical in nature._

_Though there was no spell residue, officials did find a most unusual message still intact within the charred ruins, which read “Congratulations, Albus, you've created another monster”. When questioned about the possible identity of the person or persons responsible, the Ministry declined to comment, other than stating, “DMLE is investigating, and when we know something, so will you.” When questioned as to whether Voldemort and his Death Eaters may be responsible, the Ministry again declined to comment, once again declaring that they were investigating..._

Harry stopped reading at that point. Sure, there had been other attacks in England over the past while—the Department of Information had certainly brought him up to date on the string of attacks that had taken place over the summer, and still carried on infrequently as of late. So this incident could most certainly be credited to the Dark Lord. The deviation, though, was the message. Up to this point, Voldemort and his Death Eaters never left a written message... only the Dark Mark.

* * *

_October 14_

Harry had been looking forward to this date for a while. It was the first Hogsmeade visit of the year, and the first time in well over a year he would see his friends from Hogwarts. Sure, he realized, he could easily just visit the school, but given the dubious track record for mishap, he thought it best to just wait until the Hogsmeade weekend and meet them away from the castle.

So it was, the members of the circle were getting ready to travel by port key to Hogsmeade. As always, Brandon and Eric would be providing security (as would a few other SOU, not that Harry would be aware of it), again, given the history of incidents in and around the school.

“Harry. Just before we go,” said Justin, reaching into his satchel, and pulling out a package. “You should have gotten one of these last year, but given all the crazy shit going on, I didn't have a chance.”

A tap of his wand had the package restored to its proper size. As Harry accepted it, Justin continued, “You may not actually attend classes at the school itself, but Sir Malcolm Davis is providing the syllabus. So it's only appropriate you wear the school colours.”

“I... oh.” Harry had opened the package, and inside was a jacket exactly like Justin's. The body was a deep crimson, while the sleeves were an off-white shade. The cuffs were alternating crimson and gold, and a large gold 'D' with white edging was sewn onto the left chest. The pocket openings and the buttons matched the sleeves.

“Gratitude,” said Harry, as he slipped it on.

“All of the students attending your school receive such a thing?” asked Dardanos.

“Actually no. They are quite expensive,” Justin answered, “Most of the guys in the sports programs have them, but... not exclusively. And Harry sort of qualifies, given his, uh, extra-curricular activities.”

“Right. Killing dragons and demi-gods,” Tommy smirked.

Justin glanced up at the clock over the fireplace. “We probably should get going. We're meeting at the Three Broomsticks, right?”

Just before 11 am local time, they arrived just outside the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade via port key. The street was already busy with students from the castle.

“Ah. Mr. Potter. Good to see you again,” Professor Flitwick greeted.

“And to you, professor.”

“You are well?”

“As good as can be expected. I trust you and your colleagues have been made aware of certain operations that are ongoing.”

“Very much so. It's good to see someone taking action rather than sitting around worrying about things.”

“Exactly. With luck, we can put an end to the madness and restore peace. Then I can be rid of the cloud that hangs over my head.”

“I wish you good luck. Now, I'd best not keep you. I believe Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are already inside.”

“Gratitude, professor.” Harry inclined his head, and the professor made off to strike up conversation with another group of students.

The large group invaded the Three Broomsticks—invade was an apt description, considering the place wasn't all that big. It was already nearly crammed with students and regular patrons.

Dardanos let out a chuckle. “Perhaps, an alternate location would have been more suitable for this reunion.”

“A little late. Let's—“

“Harry?” Harry focused on the speaker. Hermione and Ron had chosen a booth near the window, along with Ginny and Dean.

“Bloody hell, mate!” Ron exclaimed, taking in his old friend. 

Though it had only been a half-year, Harry was barely recognizable. His hair was nearly down to his shoulders, with a single braid on the left side. He was taller, his face still quite dark—spending a year in the hot sun tended to do that. And the way he was dressed—purely non-magical, wearing a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a tee shirt, and a school varsity jacket.

“Merlin, Harry. You've grown up,” said Hermione, also taking him in.

“ _Tiid bo amativ_ , Hermione—time flows ever onward. I would introduce a few new friends. This is Miraak, Dardanos, and Crixus. Miraak, Dardanos, Crixus. I introduce former classmates and old friends, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Dean.”

As they greeted each other, Harry continued, “The others, you will remember, of course.”

“How long are you visiting?” asked Ron.

“Only for the afternoon. Though there is the temptation to travel back up to the school with you, past events have me set against doing so. I desire not for us to contend with unsettling matters on the occasion of reunion.”

Ginny couldn't help but giggle, listing to Harry speaking.

“The source of your amusement is lost on us,” said Crixus.

Harry smirked. “ _Enesek daar los zuk nalgask._ ”

“What?” came four confused voices.

“I said, perhaps this is more suitable.”

“He speaks _Dovahzul_ , the language of the dragons,” Miraak explained.

“Oh. You mean the language you used talking to the dragon in the first task of the tournament,” Hermione remembered.

“Exactly. I now have two dragon tutors back in Skyrim. Both have been great allies in the events concluded less than a fortnight past.”

“You faced dragons... again?” Ron asked.

“We still face them,” answered Harry, “An ancient prophecy unfolded in Last Seed, bringing many of them back to life. Though we defeated the one responsible, and a great number of them have turned from their path of domination, there is no way to know how many still pose threat.”

“I could not have done it without Harry,” said Mazhe, putting his arm around his mate.

It was then Hermione noticed the rings, first on Harry's finger, then on Mazhe's.

“You're... you're engaged?! When?!” she exclaimed, excited.

“Alduin's body had only just been banished. Before the circle and the heroes of old, I proclaimed my love and asked him to take my name,” Mazhe answered.

“Though no date has been set, you would all honour us by attending our union.”

“Of course we'll be coming, Harry. Good grief, not even seventeen—“

“Hermione. I'm of age in every meaning of the word. Events have taken place that I would not speak of here, but know that I am older than you might think... old enough to take a new name. Such as Mazhe also carries title, it would become mine.”

“New titles?” Ron looked confused.

“ _Hi los Dovahkiin, Strundu'ul, Dovahsebrom—_ He is Dragonborn, Stormcrown, dragon of the North.”

Mazhe now saw where Harry was going. “Harry will also carry the name Stormcrown. Perhaps burying his birth name would be a positive thing. Far too many see Harry as only a symbol, rather than a person.”

“I would do so now.”

“You don't need my permission, Harry.”

“But... your... how did this happen? When we last saw the pair of you, the two of you were best friends maybe, nothing more,” said Ginny, confused.

“As Harry said, events took place we can't talk about here. But we were separated, and... after we were reunited, Harry made his feelings for me quite well known. I think we only finally acknowledged feelings that have been there for some time.”

“Considering they did grow up together, practically joined at the hip,” said Justin, “Really, are you guys that surprised?”

Tommy let out a smirk. “At least Harry's not lusting after  _me_ anymore.”

Harry rolled his eyes, while the rest had a laugh.

The conversation flowed as Harry brought his old school friends up to date with what he'd been doing over the past while (keeping away from his incursion into 73BCE Capua for now). Hermione did keep casting glances at Dardanos and Crixus, but said little else—she knew she would get the full tale from Harry eventually. The lot of them had lunch, then a few snacks as the afternoon wore on.

Finally, as it neared dinner time, it came time for the students to return to the castle.

“Walk with us, at least back up to the castle gate,” said Hermione.

“I guess we can go that far.”

“We can port key back to Riften from there,” Eric decided. Everyone stood, and Harry slipped on his jacket.

“That's from the school you would have went to if you'd stayed in the Commonwealth,” Hermione guessed.

“Though I don't attend physically, all of the lessons and materials are provided by Sir Malcolm Davis Institute.”

“He's a student pretty much every other way,” said Justin. “The school had wanted to give him one of these—“ he gestured to the jacket Harry was wearing, “—since last fall, but... events haven't allowed for it until now.”

“I wish they had sent one along anyway. Wearing such a thing within the castle would have drawn much irritation from the old man,” said Harry, with a vicious smirk, “It would have provided much satisfaction, seeing him casting those 'I'm disappointed in you' looks. Oh, wait... he did that quite frequently anyway.”

He gave another vicious smirk, as they made for the door.

“Has there been any word on exactly what the old man is up to in recent days?”

“We haven't heard anything since he left the school,” said Hermione, “Nothing in the _Prophet_ either.”

“I think he's spending all his time working with the Order these days,” said Ron.

“Just as long as he stays far away from me, then quite frankly, I could care less what he gets up to. He can go bugger a goat for all I care.”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, looking shocked. That had the group roaring with laughter as they spilled out onto the street.

“What? Recently I had ample opportunity to conduct research into certain affairs, including that of our former headmaster. A rumour did circulate, you should know.”

“Scandalous.”

“Gods... maybe we should have you sit down with the Department of Information again. They're still investigating Dumbledore's affairs,” said Brandon, as they started up toward the castle.

Harry shrugged. “I doubt anything I uncovered would be all that useful to the Commonwealth. Most of it is hearsay, carrying little use for legal action.”

“Perhaps some of it, but anything you might know could be further researched and collaborated.”

“I guess there is a valid point. One example—“

A terrible scream had them all looking up the path. A student had suddenly lifted into the air, head arched back in an almost painful position, obviously the source of the dreadful sound.

“Everyone stay back!” Eric commanded, sprinting up the path toward the girl. Brandon was already on his mobile, while Harry, Mazhe, and Justin circled around the stricken girl—Katie Bell, if Harry remembered her name. She was a year ahead of him. A box lay open on the ground, and a strange-looking necklace lay in the snow beside it.

Harry bent down, and gestured with a hand, sending the necklace back into the box, and snapped it shut. Katie, meanwhile, collapsed to the snow, still thrashing about as though having a seizure. Eric had no choice but to stun her to prevent further injury.

“Ron... Hermione... i think it's time we get you away from Hogwarts,” Harry decided. “I don't know what this is... but things are about to get far worse before they ever get better.”

“But... my parents—“ Hermione began.

“The Commonwealth shouldn't have any trouble convincing your family of the need,” said Brandon, as he levitated Katie's unconscious form, “It's best we get her to the care of Madam Pomfrey.”

Harry produced his wand.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” he whispered, and to the stag which formed, he said, “Professor, meet us at the entry hall with your Defence professor. Katie Bell has been seriously injured by a cursed object.”

He blew out a breath watching it bound away up to the school. “Gods. Can't even set food in Hogsmeade without some sort of fucking calamity falling at our feet.”

“Harry!”

“Do not scold my foul tongue. I have many words I would use given the circumstances,” Harry muttered, stowing away his wand.

“Harry. I'll take that,” said Eric, gesturing to the box.

“Right.” Harry passed it over. “I seriously doubt miss Bell was the end target for this.”

“We won't know until she regains consciousness,” said Eric.

“A CSU will meet us in the hospital wing,” said Brandon, finally putting away his mobile, turning his full focus on the injured student he still held levitated with his wand.

“I now understand what you mean by calamity,” said Dardanos, from behind Harry.

“I make no exaggeration on any tale I have told you. I can back up every claim with pensieve evidence. _Nii fah den dahrin zu'u gun daar staad_ —It is for those reasons I dislike coming here.”

The rest of the way up, they remained silent, lost to their thoughts. Harry cursed silently in his head. Another visit to Hogwarts, and another mess to sort out. At the rate he was going, one of these days, someone was going to end up dead!

With the plan now under way, perhaps it was time to pull a few others away from the school as well—the draconian legislation be damned. He mentally checked off a few people he would make overtures to... Neville, Dean, Seamus... the rest of the Weasleys... maybe have a look at the list of students that had been in the Defence club last year...

In the entrance hall, they were joined by Professor McGonagall, as well as the new Defence professor.

“Good Lord, Potter... you don't even set foot in the castle and trouble manages to find you.”

Harry gave a rueful smile. “The gods hate me. That is my only explanation.”

“Professor, the object at the source of the problem,” said Eric, presenting the case to the Defence professor. She accepted it, and cracked open the lid, to peer inside.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

The Defence professor frowned. “Miss Bell is lucky to be alive.”

“Let's get her up to the care of Madam Pomfrey, and we can be on our way,” said Brandon.

“Professor, a CSU is meeting us, they'll want to see the necklace for themselves.”

A few minutes later, Katie was laid on a bed in the hospital wing, while Madam Pomfrey began conducting a number of diagnostic charms. As expected, a crime scene unit from the Commonwealth was already waiting, and though they did not immediately begin an examination of their own, they observed as Madam Pomfrey worked.

“Perhaps one of our healing potions might have an effect,” Miraak offered.

“No. Last time we had an interaction between worlds in such a manner... well...” Harry simply gestured to Tommy.

“Gee, thanks,” Tommy muttered, as he felt everyone's eyes on him for a moment.

“Right. I think the government has this under control. We'd best get back to Skyrim,” Brandon decided.

“Uh... right. Ron, Hermione... we'll be in touch about... well, what I mentioned a while ago. I really do not wish for you to be in harm's way,” said Harry.

“We know,” said Hermione. “Just, be careful, Harry.”

* * *

_Calamity in Western Crawley_

_1 home destroyed, 4 others badly damaged in early morning blast_

_Police and fire services continue to comb through the destruction from an earth-shattering blast which sent residents in an upper middle-class neighbourhood in western Crawley out into the streets early yesterday morning._

_Three families have been accounted for, all escaping with only minor injuries, while one other is unaccounted for and thus far believed to have been away when the blast occurred. One family has been confirmed dead, their bodies being found in the remains of the house at the epicentre of the destruction. Police have yet to identify the remains, but no names will be disclosed until next-of-kin are notified..._

* * *

_Unexplained Explosion Rocks Muggle Neighbourhood_

_Second unusual message discovered in the wreckage_

_Muggle emergency services were busy yesterday in the west end of Crawley, after a powerful explosion rocked the neighbourhood. The blast was centred on the home of Dr. Elliot and Linda Granger—their only daughter is a sixth year student at Hogwarts, and one of Harry Potter's strongest supporters._

_Once again, a message was found scarred on an undamaged section of wall, reading, 'Congratulations, Albus, you've created another monster'. The Ministry has yet to make further comment about the first message, and with the appearance of this one, perhaps they will be ready to share a little more insight. One Dark Lord is enough, is it not?_

* * *

_17 October, 2006 / 17 Hearthfire, 4E201_

Harry himself had joined Hermione when she met with her parents, and it took only a few minutes for them to truly understand the gravity of what was going on. After all, pensieve memories were extremely efficient. The Government would look after their finances and help them to re-establish themselves back in England once the threat had been dealt with. In the immediate term, Elliot and Linda Granger would join Remus back in Skyrim.

So it was, the Grangers' residence had been quite literally teleported to a plot of land near Remus' cottage just outside of Riften. This was done in the small hours of the morning, and as far as the non-magical population in the area was concerned, nothing had changed—at least, not until the explosion that woke the neighbourhood. In reality, all that had been destroyed, was an illusion.

With the dragon threat still not completely ended, Hermione's parents were provided with emergency port keys that would take them into the underground apartment. Otherwise, they were encouraged to enjoy a sudden break from their busy lives, and perhaps spend some time with their daughter. It was something they readily agreed to. Hermione had been retrieved from Hogwarts the day after the explosion by someone claiming to be a relative. Actually, it had been a pair of SOU in disguise, and she was quickly spirited away to Skyrim, to be reunited with Harry and his circle.

Exactly a week following, England's Wizarding world was rocked by yet another high-profile attack, this one targeting the Weasleys. Two separate attacks took place, first against the family's home near Ottery St. Catchpole, while the other levelled Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, the twins' shop in Diagon Alley. In both cases, a nasty message was discovered in the wreckage. In both cases, bodies were also discovered, so horribly damaged they were beyond recognition.

Like the Grangers' residence, the Burrow was simply collected and relocated by the Commonwealth. As an additional benefit, the government contractor also did some work to further stabilize the house, and make its very structure much more resistant to destructive magic.

The twins' shop, meanwhile, was not spared. The contents had been collected, and were sent to Harry's apartment, but everything else was left behind and destroyed. By the time the Aurors arrived on scene, the building was destroyed, and by their count, the young wizard proprietors dead.

On October 25, at breakfast in the great hall at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall personally collected both the Weasleys still remaining at the school. By that time, most of the student body was well aware of the terrible attack the previous evening, considering it was splashed all over the front page of the  _Daily Prophet_ . To them, it was only a sad cap to a dreadful set of circumstances. Far worse, for the first time, the paper had suggested that perhaps Harry himself was responsible for the ghastly act, considering his friendship with both families.

Rather than breaking bad news, Professor McGonagall only led Ron and Ginny to her office in order to send them through the floo so they could reunite with their family. The past week had seen lots of discussion flow back and forth between the Commonwealth and Hogwarts, with the headmistress being fully aware of the unfolding plot. As far as she was concerned, the children were being moved to a far more secure location—perhaps one of the most secure in the world. With that in mind, she expected there to be more 'incidents' over the coming weeks and months, as Harry sought to protect those who were truly in his corner.

* * *

Harry's routine changed very little with his school friends present. If anything, he ended up becoming somewhat of a tutor himself, given he was practically a year ahead of everyone—two in the case of Ginny. Given it was her O.W.L. year, both Ron and Hermione helped out with her review. Of course, it didn't hurt that they were getting a review of the material themselves.

Friday mornings, Harry was once again taking blacksmithing lessons from Balimund. Monday mornings were spent with Tommy, the SOU team, and the former gladiators, as they went through combat training.

Monday afternoons, meanwhile, were spent at the summit of the Throat of the World, learning the dragon language from Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar—the younger dragon had taken to staying with the elder, rather than returning to Solstheim. Not only were the dragons teaching him the language, but were also starting him on the path to learning the  _thu'um_ . It was very unlikely Harry would ever harness the power as Mazhe and Miraak did, but even to learn a few of the words meant only one more weapon at his disposal.

Tuesdays meant a trek to Morthal, where Falion continued to teach Harry conjuration. Falion had been most impressed with Harry's demonstration of his summoning of the demon from Apocrypha, but like Frea, had cautioned him on the dangers of doing so. The Daedric lords and ladies were not to be trifled with or made light of.

* * *

The remainder of the fall passed with relative peace, at least as far as Harry and his circle were concerned. Sure, they were certainly kept up to date with things back in the magical world, but there, in Skyrim, life had fallen into a simple routine of classes, training, and the occasional adventure. Being a member of the guild most certainly fostered that sort of thing, after all.

Back in the magical world, however, things were anything  _but_ calm. The rate of occurrence for incidents had climbed to three or four a week by the beginning of December. Most of them were easily written up to Voldemort, the tell-tale Dark Mark floating above the scene. But some, it was very clear the Dark Lord was not the culprit. The scenes were disaster areas. Overkill. Mass destruction, corpses mangled beyond recognition. The level of violence depicted an individual or individuals fuelled by unmitigated, uncapped, boiling rage. The only question was, were they working for the Dark Lord, or were they operating on their own agenda?

Harry, though, wasn't concerned about events in his own world. He trusted that things were being handled by professionals. Everything being done only brought an ending to the madness a little closer. In all honesty, he really didn't care about what the Wizarding world thought of him. Once Voldemort was gone, he would have no need to return to Earth. He would make his home in Skyrim, and he and Mazhe would grow old together.

* * *

December 21 marked yet another young tradition, as the enlarged group once again took in the holiday concert performance at the Fox Theatre. This time the event featured Handel's “Messiah”, a truly epic composition that showcased the theatre organ's powerful pipes, accompanied by dozens of voices.

December 25, meanwhile, saw Harry and a few of his circle attend the Queen's annual Christmas banquet at her palace. This time, they were asked to arrive a little early, so Harry could meet with the Queen.

“Are you sure you want to proceed with the next stage of the plan? There's no guarantee we will be able to restore your reputation at its conclusion,” said the Queen.

“Those I care about know the truth. Perhaps I am selling my soul to the underworld, but I do as I must, to complete the journey the gods have set me on. I trust the Commonwealth has my back, though many of its people may see me as the villain in the end.”

“This is true. You are making a life for yourself in Skyrim?”

“I have no life anywhere else, your grace. Though the Commonwealth has done great things for me, I will never see this as my home. When I am free of the burden of my destiny, my presence here will be infrequent at best.”

“It is most unfortunate. The world is losing a great mage. Someone like you has the power to make lasting changes, Harry.”

“I know. Equally I know, far too many will see only the name, and not the person behind it. Though I will be taking steps to somewhat mitigate that, gratitude to my betrothed for making it so.”

“Your betrothed? You have been holding out on us, Mr. Potter,” the Queen laughed.

“Gods... he shocked me, I can tell you that much. Right there, at the threshold of Sovngarde itself. Moments after he killed Alduin. He goes down on one knee, and asks for my hand.”

“Young Mazhe has a flair for the dramatic.”

“You would do us great honour by attending, your grace.”

“How could I ever decline? Have either of you given any thought to where you might hold your ceremony?”

“We haven't even set a date yet,” answered Harry, “ _Rem drok hiitir do havoth_ —too many pressing matters of concern. The best case scenario, I would see it done sometime in the summer. That will depend on how matters conclude here in this world. If Tom Riddle has not met _aus on dinok_ —unending suffering beyond death by that time—“

“Harry, do not put your own plans on hold to work around ours. You've left the intricate workings of the plan in our hands, precisely so you may see to your own matters. Your joyous union to your love should not be interrupted by less significant matters.”

* * *

December 30 brought about yet another remarkable event, in that the Longbottoms' manor was completely obliterated, the remains found within the wreckage smashed and burned beyond recognition. Exactly as had been the case with the Weasleys, a message was found in the wreckage, kept intact by an unbreakable charm: “ _Congratulations, Albus, you've created another monster._ ” Far more alarming, the Dark Mark was floating above the scene, in all its sinister glory. Now, it was very clear: the unknown was in fact working for Voldemort.

Meanwhile, by the following morning, the Longbottoms' manor was actually settled into its final position on a plot of land close to the Weasleys—once again, it had only been an illusion that had been destroyed, while the real thing was moved. Through the guild's influence on the local government, the land was easily obtained, and no taxes would be collected. That made four residences now clumped together a little southeast of the city—a small invasion from Harry's world.

The government had also arranged for Neville's parents to be collected from St. Mungo's. Though they were in a vegetative state, they still lived, and they were most certainly a part of the family, and so they were moved to the manor. Healer Ferris made arrangements for healers to make a house call daily to provide care.

* * *

_1 Morning Star, 4E202 / 1 January, 2007_

Ice skating was something that was completely lost on both Harry and Mazhe, for almost identical reasons: lack of exposure to it. However, there had been interest expressed from a number of others in the group of former Hogwarts students, and so, that afternoon, a section of the ice was cleared near Goldenglow Estate—the property's owner was once again under the guild's thumb, and so had 'graciously' opened his home to the group. A massive bonfire had been lit, with some of the mercenaries that provided security on the island helping keep it fed. The bonfire also meant hot apple cider and hot chocolate, as well as an assortment of treats, all of that handled by Mrs. Weasley, who looked to be in her element, being kept busy with the event.

Both Harry and Mazhe had coaxed, cajoled, coerced, and nearly threatened the rest of the guild to also join them out on the frozen lake, and in the end, no one could refuse. Dierge, and a pair of SOU members remained in the Flagon to keep an eye on things (though Harry had locked both entrances into the cistern). Mazhe and Harry both agreed that it was about getting the membership out of the 'cave' that was their home, and out into the fresh air for some good old fashioned fun.

Emily and Rosie were having the time of their lives, in between their uncle and the twins. The two girls had been provided with beginner skates, and spent more time on their arses, or hoisted up on someone's shoulders, instead of on their feet. They laughed, squealed, and giggled for most of the afternoon.

Harry, meanwhile, didn't take long to work out how to skate—at least well enough that he didn't land on his backside very few strides. Most of the guild, likewise, seemed to grasp the basic concept, although most of them were rather choppy at it no matter what. Ice-skating had been up to then unheard of in Skyrim, however, being a practised thief also meant having great balance and nimble feet—skills part and parcel to being good on skates.

“This was an excellent idea, Harry,” said Karliah, as she took a seat beside him and Mazhe by the fire. Mrs. Weasley was already hustling over with a heavy blanket and a warm cup of cider.

“We can't exactly take credit for it. My school friends gave suggestion. We only expanded on it.”

“I would love to see us do this again,” said Mazhe, “We spend far too much time in the cistern.”

“If that's what you want to do, it's up to you, Mazhe.”

“No. I won't just railroad everyone into doing something. It has to be a membership decision. Everyone has to have a say on matters.”

“Agreed,” said Harry, “We're a family in so many ways... but everyone has to have a voice in matters. It's the only way the family can become stronger, more effective. This treachery by Mercer caused great harm. It violated the trust of the guild itself.”

He took a sip of his cider.

“Doing activities together can only move to strengthen our purpose.”

Brynjolf took the seat beside Mazhe.

“It's been a long time since I've actually done something truly fun, lads.”

“Mazhe would see us do this sort of thing again.”

“Agreed,” said Karliah, “I would say even Vex is entertained.”

They all glanced over, finding her trying to help Rosie to stay on her feet. The little girl stumbled, wind-milled, and fell nearly face-first. Vex did her best to try and catch her, but ended up going over herself.

“I would see us do this again next year,” Harry decided, “Should the weather cooperate.”

“Even if it doesn't, we could simply use the Virtual Projection Room,” said Mazhe. “The gods have blessed us with reasonable weather today,but in there, we could make it near perfect.”

“Ah, but you lose the idea of having a roaring fire to warm our hands, butts, and faces in front of,” said Brandon, joining the conversation. “Come on, guys, you all grew up in this place, did you not?”

Harry could not help but laugh, knowing it to be true.

It was only when it became difficult to see from the lack of light, that they retreated back to the Ragged Flagon. For many, it was an early night, fatigue from the day's events being the primary reason. Harry and Mazhe, on the other hand, were awake into the wee hours of the morning. Sleep was the furthest from their minds. Fortunately for the rest of the apartment, silencing charms had been placed on the room.

* * *

_11 Sun's Dawn, 4E202 / 11 January, 2007_

That morning, it was not a  _Daily Prophet_ that arrived by post, but a copy of the  _National Daily Chronicle_ . 'BETRAYAL', screamed the single headline in large, black letters. The picture that took up the upper part of the page showed the Ministry of Social Services' central office in Trevelyan, with its upper floors a roaring inferno. Dozens of both magical and non-magical firefighters were on the scene, attempting to get a handle on the blaze. A smaller, inset picture at the top right, depicted a message, found in the burned out remains: “ _ Dumbledork betrayed me, and so have you. Just as I will see England's Wizarding world burn, I will see Valicadia also burn. _ ”

 

_A devastating explosion and fire sent occupants of the Ministry of Social Services' central office in Trevelyan scrambling to safety yesterday afternoon. The resulting six-alarm conflagration destroyed the upper six storeys of the building, and caused damage so far estimated to be in the millions. As an incredible stroke of luck, there were only minor injuries, and thus far, no deaths._

_The initial assumption of the party responsible pointed to the same individual or individuals responsible for the swath of destruction recently unleashed in England. With the message being discovered in the wreckage once the fire was brought under control, the Ministry of Justice is likely now all but convinced of the person responsible._

_Though the Daily Prophet at times publishes content that we believe to be distasteful and unsubstantiated, at times they do print content that can be proven and true. To see their coverage of recent, similar attacks, there is strong evidence that Mr. Potter may be responsible for this devastating attack in our nation's capitol yesterday._

_So the question then is, what have we done to so anger Mr. Potter such that he would outright lash out at the very hands that have protected him and guided him when needed? Do we now have to fear him such as our English counterparts already do? To speak the name Harry Potter there, already conjures up nearly as much fear as to mention the Dark Lord by name. What have we done to you, Harry?_

_Potter: Personal war against England, Page 2_

_Another side of the war? Page 8_

_Potter's 'rescue' at age 6: were we wrong? Page 15_

 

Harry had to wipe his eyes after reading it. The Commonwealth did have his back in every sense of the word. And so to lash out at them in such a manner, even if it were only an illusion, it still hurt. His heart ached, seeing that pleading question in the paper—the writer was personally hurt by his actions.

* * *

The end of Sun's Dawn (January) saw Harry and Mazhe travel to Markarth by port key, to meet with a man named Endon. He was a silver-smith, and a former ally of the guild. Considering Mazhe already somewhat knew who he was, it was no trouble to locate him. In this instance, they found him in the Silver-Blood Inn, seated by the fire. Ogmund, the bard in the inn's employ, was strumming his lute, his voice carrying across the room easily:

 

“ _Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky._

_His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes._

_Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died._

_They burned and they bled as they issued their cries...”(1)_

 

“Endon?” Mazhe asked, touching the man on the shoulder.

“Eh? Oh. Mazhe, good of you to come,” said Endon, looking relieved. 

He was a typical redguard, dressed in the typical outfit of a merchant. A heavy cloak was slung over the back of his seat. After all, it was cold in Skyrim this time of year, no matter what part of the province you were in.

“Delvin tells us you have a small problem.”

“Thank goodness. I... I didn't know where else to turn.”

“How about you start from the beginning?” Harry suggested.

Endon took a deep swig from the bottle of mead he was nursing.

“Several months ago I ordered a special silver mold from some artisans in Valenwood by way of a Khajiit Caravan. Well, it never arrived. Later I found out that it was robbed by a group of bandits led by someone named Rigel Strong-Arm.”

“So why did you contact the guild?” Mazhe asked

“Mazhe,” said Harry, with a frown. “I see where this is going. A thief, or thieves, to steal back what they stole.”

“Exactly,” said Endon, “Look, this mold is irreplaceable. I'll pay you well for its return and...” 

He lowered his voice, whispering, “I can also prove to be quite a valuable ally to the Thieves Guild.”

“Where would we begin our search?” asked Harry.

“The only thing I can tell you is that the mold was taken to the bandit's hideout... a small cottage called Pinewatch. I'm not sure how many men they have inside, but I trust that won't be an issue for you. If you have a map, I'll point it out to you.”

“Here.” Mazhe produced his mobile and switched it to tablet mode to make it larger. A few button presses produced the map of the province. Endon was intrigued by the technology.

“From what I could find out, Pinewatch is here,” he said, touching a finger to the spot. He was startled when the map zoomed in a bit.

“Gods, what fascinating... technology.”

“We'll have an associate contact you if you're interested,” said Mazhe. “But we'd better get going.”

“We'll return with haste,” Harry promised.

The trek to Pinewatch was relatively easy, since Mazhe had been to several locations in the area. However, once they entered the small cottage, both knew something was off. The place was pathetically small, and a cursory search of the place after dispatching the single bandit proved futile.

“Okay. We have to be overlooking the obvious,” said Harry, letting out a huff. The pair of them stood in the cramped cellar, gazing around, frustrated.

“Or his intel was wrong—wait. Harry, look at that.” Mazhe pointed to the floor near a large bookcase. “Is that—“

“The dust's being blown around. I wonder...” 

Harry ran a hand along one side of the bookcase, and sure enough, he could feel the air escaping from behind it.

“There. A button,” said Mazhe, pointing to a button on the wall beside the bookcase, partially hidden by a table beside it.

“I would summon the circle before we proceed further,” Harry decided, “Where lives one bandit, there live many more.”

Needless to say, the horde of bandits living in the extensive cave system beneath the cottage were no match for Harry and his circle. Sure, there were a few close calls, but nothing a few healing potions weren't able to fix. The larger group returned to the apartment for a few hours' rest, before Harry and Mazhe returned to Markarth. Endon was ecstatic when Mazhe presented him the case containing the mold.

“You have my many thanks, the both of you,” he said, reaching into his robes, and pulling out a coin purse. “Split the reward between you.”

“We'll do that. Glad to be of service.”

“Tell Delvin that he can count on me to provide the influence around here with the right people when he needs it.”

He once again lowered his voice. “Oh. And should you be needing to rid yourselves of any not-so-legal merchandise... come see me. It's the least I can do.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” said Mazhe, with a chuckle.

* * *

_3 February, 2007 / 3 Sun's Dawn, 4E202_

As Harry stepped into the dining room, having just gotten cleaned up after his morning exercises, he was momentarily startled to find a rather menacing bird resting on the back of one of the chairs. He didn't get post by way of owl very often, so obviously it was something important. This bird, was definitely not an owl, though. An eagle, perhaps, though it looked deadly.

Seeing him enter, the bird extended its leg, in which it clutched an envelope.

“And I suppose your master desires a reply, does he?” Harry asked, peering at the envelope, before breaking the wax seal on the back.

“Gods... that's a scary looking bird,” Mazhe remarked, plopping into a seat. Harry simply smirked, as he read the contents.

“It is news well-received?” asked Dardanos, as he too pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table.

“It is. Our 'friend' finally breaks words with us,” answered Harry, absently summoning a pad of paper and a pen. “He considers my recent activities, inspiring.”

He took a few minutes to pen a reply, then sent it off with the menacing bird.

* * *

Another message arrived about a week later, in which Tom revealed his plan to attack the residence of Dean Thomas in the early hours of the following morning. Harry could only smirk as he read the missive, since he'd already had the intention of moving Dean and his family. It played right into Harry's plans, and with a call placed to the Department of Information, a counter plan was put in place that would keep the family safe. As far as the Dark Lord would believe, the residence and everyone in it would be destroyed.

Only after the deed was done and the actual residents moved, did Harry and Brandon travel to Hogwarts to collect Dean. He wold, like the other kids removed from the school, continue his education in Skyrim.

As the family was helped to get settled, Harry finally asked, “How is this possible anyway? Moving entire buildings, it truly confounds the mind.”

“Harry, I think you know the answer yourself,” said Justin, “The Orb of Magnus—or the Eye of Magnus, as you've encountered it as... it's a truly powerful artefact, don't you agree?”

“This is true.”

“The Commonwealth has done astounding things with it,” said Brandon, “And we've not even scratched the surface of what it can truly do.”

“The government has lots of practice moving things, and not just buildings,” Justin explained, “I mean, the larger the place is, the more complicated it gets and so on, but... I think you get the picture.”

Harry thought for a moment, as they watched contractors put the finishing touches on the property. “That would include places such as the theatre.”

“Yes, most definitely, as well as the facility below it. The facility would take precedence of course.”

Harry thought again, before asking, “Could such a thing be done with Hogwarts?”

“Easily,” Justin answered, bluntly, “It would be complex, but yes, absolutely, we could do it.”

The two months passed with a number of families being relocated to Skyrim. For the most part, it was the SOU who were in communication with the Dark Lord, though all messages were shared with Harry before they were sent. That way, Harry knew exactly what the government was up to. Though the government was handling the operation, they knew it was important Harry was kept in the loop on matters.

Families that were moved included the Krum family, the Delecour family, the Diggory family, and the Finnegan family—all of them being Harry's supporters. From a public standpoint, it was clear Harry was going after those he had one time called a friend... quite literally striking out at those who were close to him. Now, whether it was done for his own end, or at the direction of He-who-must-not-be-named, it was the subject of debate. One thing was for sure: Harry Potter had become a monster in his own right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry and his friends take a weeks' vacation in San Francisco, where they meet a few more friends, and Harry gets an idea of something to do for Mazhe as a wedding gift; an incident sends everyone in the flat, the Ragged Flagon, and the cistern fleeing; and a missive from Voldemort sets in motion a final meeting, and a possible ending to things..._   
> _(1) From the song “Tale of the Tongues”, which the bards will only sing after Skyrim's main quest is completed._


	37. Party to an End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry and his friends take a weeks' vacation in San Francisco, where they meet a few more friends, and Harry gets an idea of something to do for Mazhe as a wedding gift; an incident sends everyone in the flat, the Ragged Flagon, and the cistern fleeing; and a missive from Voldemort sets in motion a final meeting, and a possible ending to things..._

**37: PARTY TO AN END**

**March 30 – May 8, 2007**

* * *

_March 30, 2007 / 30 First Seed, 4E202_

Harry read the missive he was about to send one more time before he put the seal on it. The past few weeks had looked more than promising, as far as what he was seeing in the missives he was receiving from Voldemort. At this point, the Dark Lord was all but convinced Harry was working toward the same end. There had been some expressed interest in Harry perhaps running a joint operation of sorts with the Death Eaters. Harry had not commented thus far—advised not to by the Department of Information. However, the department had suggested that perhaps now was the time to 'offer a carrot', and dangle the forbidden knowledge of the black books. Hence, the missive.

With that business taken care of, a rather large group consisting of Harry, Mazhe, Justin, Tommy, Eric, Brandon, Dardanos, Crixus, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus, travelled by floo powder to San Francisco. Miraak decided to remain behind, wishing to continue studies. He also wanted to speak with the Greybeards concerning a number of things, namely the possibility of there being other word walls out in the world.

Like in years prior, Harry and his entourage would use the Fox Theatre's private suites on the top floor as their base, as the plan was to spend over a week as a sort of vacation. There had been debate as to how everyone would actually fit, but Harry quickly realized, the government had made modifications so everyone would be comfortable. Of course, he also quietly wondered why the didn't just set everyone up in a hotel. It would have been easier... right?

For the next week, the group became tourists, taking in the sights and sounds of the city by the bay—some for the first time. Crixus and Dardanos had certainly seen snippets, glimpses of modern society, but this? Both ancient men were astounded, being immersed in the fast-paced world of the twenty-first century.

The Golden Gate Bridge was one of their first outings, where the group got yet another near impossible photograph, thanks to Eric this time. Crixus and Dardanos were astonished, seeing the iconic structure up close.

“Gods... and the Romans were known to build great things,” said Crixus, shaking his head.

“And yet our modern world surpassed all of their works many times over,” said Brandon, as they began to walk back to the south end of the bridge, “We have built things far greater.”

“I would see us visit them all—or... some of them,” Harry decided.

“Harry, we're wizards. I think it could be quite easily arranged, if that's what you'd like to do,” said Justin.

“Something you guys could do for your honeymoon,” Eric suggested.

“Err... well... uh...”

“What's a honeymoon?” Mazhe asked.

“It's... well... a tradition when people get married,” Hermione answered, “People usually go away, just themselves, to—”

“Bond, consummate the marriage, uh—right, I'll shut up now,” said Justin, catching the glare Harry was giving him. That had most of the group laughing.

That evening, the group ended up going out to dinner, where they helped the twins celebrate their eighteenth birthday. Lots of food, lots of cake, and lots of drink was consumed (at least for those who were of age... or looked of age). It resulted in a late night, with the group not returning to the theatre until the early hours of the morning.

The following day they visited Fisherman's Wharf, and the S.S. Jeremiah O'Brian, one of only two world war two Liberty Ships still in operating condition. In retrospect, perhaps it wasn't the greatest idea, considering the number of pureblood wizards in the group—never mind two time travellers. More than a few awkward questions were asked, and only the discreet action of the SOU prevented things from getting out of hand.

On April 4, the group was treated to a baseball game at AT&T Park(1), where the San Francisco Giants welcomed the San Diego Padres. As had been the case with the Quidditch World Cup, the large group were treated to a private box, this time covered by Valicor. Crixus, Dardanos were intrigued by the game, although they were somewhat lost as far as the rules of the game went. The home team ended up losing 5-3, but it was an entertaining evening all in all.

The following day featured a ride on San Francisco's famous cable car system. Though Harry and a few of the others had been to the city on several occasions in years previous, they'd not had the opportunity. It turned out to be rather amusing, considering they were a rather large group, and they ended up all but taking over one of the trolleys for nearly half the day. Thank the gods for the day passes...

April 6 marked the beginning of the second annual AT&T Invitational Show Choir Tournament. The tournament had been revised slightly, now being hosted over the Easter weekend. There had also been debate about moving it to a larger venue, but for now it was decided to stay with the current plan. As had been the format the previous year, twelve clubs were chosen from entrants across the continent—there had been entries from all over the U.S., Canada, and even a few schools in Mexico. The clubs chosen were notified in January, to give them ample time to clear their schedules and the like. Travel and accommodation was handled by Valicor, though they remained a silent sponsor of the event—their involvement was brought on due to one of the previous year's contestants nearly declined the invitation, finding it difficult to pay for such things.

The tournament had been expanded to four days, this time allowing six clubs to showcase their talent on Friday, with the rest performing on Saturday. The best three clubs from each day would then move on to perform again on Sunday. The best three from Sunday would then go on to perform Monday, with the winner taking home the five thousand dollar purse, awarded to the school, rather than the club itself.

Friday turned out to be a zoo of activity in the morning, with the noise drifting up into the suites from the stage below—the private suites had at one time been offices, built virtually on top of the backstage area. The show itself more than made up for it, however. As had been the case the previous year, the clubs were all outstanding with their performances, and the judges most certainly had their work cut out for them.

If Friday had been intense, Saturday proved astounding, as far as the musical performances were concerned. However, at the end of the day's competition, more than a few of the group expressed annoyance at some of the musical choices.

“Look, mate... I think I'd like to head back to... well, where me ma is,” said Seamus, “It's been fun and all, but...”

“If you so wish. If there are others that desire an early end to our holiday, I understand,” said Harry, “This news does not disappoint me, as your company has been most welcome for the past week.”

“I'll take any of you who wish to go back to Skyrim,” Brandon offered, “Eric, you got the fort until I get back.”

“Sir,” said Eric, simply.

Harry watched as a good portion of the group followed Brandon down the corridor.

“I'm surprised that Ron and Hermione headed home—I would've thought they would want to stick around,” said Mazhe.

“No, I... I guess I sort of understand. All of them, for that matter. They're... let's see... I think Hermione's seventeen now, but Ron... Ron's still sixteen.”

“And you're going on eighteen now,” said Justin, “I get where you're going.”

“I thank the gods we were able to spend time this week. That we drift apart, I can only expect it. Just as Mazhe and I will make a life together, so too will my friends.”

Once Brandon returned, the somewhat smaller group went out for a late dinner, which graduated to club-hopping until the wee hours of the following morning. It was only when Harry, Dardanos, and Crixus began singing a rather obnoxious, lewd song, that Brandon firmly called it a night. As it was, he'd had to do some rather creative spell work to avoid a visit from the American Department of Magic—Mazhe had gotten rather upset at the waiter and had nearly shouted him across the room. So it was, they all piled into an extended limo for the ride back to the theatre.

* * *

_April 8, 2007 / 8 Rain's Hand, 4E202_

Like Mazhe, Harry got about three hours' rest. The pair of them were still somewhat intoxicated, but they both had need of the restroom. Somewhat still out of it, neglecting the idea of just using a sobriety draught, they clumsily made their way to the restrooms at the west end of the building.

“Seriously... you could've killed the guy,” Harry muttered, as they stumbled back out into the corridor after finishing their business, “We're in a non-magical area... last thing I need is you getting hauled off to a holding cell.”

“I wasn't thinking.”

“Keep hold of your thoughts and remember where you are—“

“Harry, where are we going? The suite was back there.”

“My feet have not yet decided,” Harry answered, “But I do not mind, so long as you follow.”

Mazhe leaned down and kissed Harry's forehead. “My place will always be by your side. I would battle Shor himself to make it so.”

Harry gave a smile. “I'm sure you would.”

Wandering the corridors of the building eventually led them into the auditorium itself, and up onto the enormous stage. The auditorium was for the most part dark, with only a few isle lights and the exit signs, with the small amount of light flooding in from the doors leading out to the lobby. The stage itself was dimly lit.

“Could you imagine, standing here, singing before all those faces out there?”

Harry made a sour face. “The thought terrifies me. You know I dislike the spotlight, Mazhe.”

“ _All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players..._ ” Mazhe quoted, “ _They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts..._ ”

“Hmm... right, Shakespeare,” Harry remembered.

“I love the analogy. Though, I think, we have played many parts already.”

“Some parts, whether we desire it so or not,” Harry agreed.

Mazhe kissed Harry on the forehead again, then smirked. “Gods... enough with the mushy stuff. The auditorium is bare, with me your only audience. You must have something you might sing.”

Harry smirked right back, remembering the lewd song he was singing with Crixus and Dardanos the previous night. He cleared his throat.

 

“ _The blood rains down from an angry sky;_

_His cock rages on, his cock rages on;_

_'till death is found, his sword swinging hot;_

_His cock standing hard, his cock standing hard;_ ”

 

He was by no means an accomplished singer, nor was he terrible—but let's face it, this is something Harry would never do if completely alert and sober. His voice carried quite well in the enormous auditorium, quite likely up into the private suite for good measure.

“I give it a six. His voice carries well, though the subject matter leaves something to be desired,” came a youthful voice from the back of the auditorium, just as a number of house lights switched on, brightening the room somewhat. Harry was mortified to realize a group of people had stepped into the auditorium from the lobby as he was singing.

“No, dude. A ten, for bad-assry,” quipped another. Harry now wanted to just twist on the spot and Disapparate, to hell with the consequences.

“Guys. Enough,” said yet another. 

He appeared to be older than the others, likely being the chaperone for the group, who were obviously one of the clubs competing in the tournament.

“This is a closed auditorium. How'd you get in here?”

“Uh, they've got clearance to be here,” said one of the security guards from the next set of doors. She had also stepped into the room to investigate.

“Forgive us, we didn't realize the, uh, space would be needed this early,” said Mazhe. The club were by that point making their way through the auditorium.

Chuckles from behind them had both Harry and Mazhe turn around, to find Brandon and Eric, doing their best not to burst out laughing.

“I... uh, think the whole building heard us,” Mazhe sniggered.

“Great confidence builder.”

“You pair, uh, forgot the... morning supplements,” said Brandon, producing a pair of vials. Both Harry and Mazhe accepted them without question, knowing they would likely be sobriety draughts, something that should have been taken in the first place before they set off roaming the building without supervision.

“I think we'll file this under, 'Requires adult supervision',” Eric grinned. He earned a rude gesture for the effort.

“So any particular reason the pair of you were in here singing such a... no, I revise that... that cannot be considered music, it's downright offensive,” said the first speaker, “William Fox(1) is likely rolling over in his grave about now.”

“Kurt...” one of the female members of the club scolded.

Harry could feel his face getting hot. “I honestly didn't know anything else. Apologies.”

“I'm Mazhe. This is Harry, Eric, and Brandon.” He thought for a moment. “You guys are the club from Ohio, right?”

“That's... that's right,” said the older guy, “Uh, I'm Will Schuester, the... I'm the club director and the chaperone. I'll let...”

“I'm Rachel, this is Jesse, Finn, Noah—“

“It's Puck,” the guy she was identifying corrected.

“Noah,” Rachel insisted, to which Harry had to grin. 

She continued to introduce the members of the club, with Harry committing the names carefully to memory—perhaps more for the exercise of it than anything. It all came back to practice with his Occlumency. With the upcoming battle with Voldemort, he did have to be on his game.

Harry could also read into a few of the relationships in the group. Rachel and Jesse were definitely an item, although there was some tension there—ah, that would do it, Harry realized, getting a quick glance at the guy's thoughts. No, having three boys all share the same role in a racy video without the others' knowledge, is NOT a way for Rachel to endear herself to them(2).

No matter. Harry realized their problems were ridiculously simple compared to his own. They'd all had their hearts broken, failed a test, gotten in trouble with their parents... Mercedes and her self-image issues... even Quinn's pregnancy... it was all a flash in the pan compared to what Harry had already faced, just a few months shy of turning eighteen(3).

One person he did feel for in a small way, was Artie. The young man was wheelchair-bound for life as a result of a terrible accident when he was only eight years old. To be disabled in such a manner? Harry mentally shivered at the thought.

As they chatted amongst themselves, Eric and Brandon quickly offered to help Artie up onto the stage, effortlessly lifting both the wheelchair and its occupant.

“Oh. Guys. Wondered where you'd went.” Harry turned to find Justin, Dardanos, and Crixus walking over from a backstage door.

“Harry's feet led him here, and we've met some new friends,” said Mazhe.

“Ah. Well. Welcome. I'm Justin, this is Dardanos, and Crixus.”

Mazhe smirked. “You remember what you guys were singing last night that finally got us banned from the last bar we were at?”

“How could we not?” Crixus laughed.

“The song fell from your lips here,” Dardanos guessed.

“I revise my earlier score, and give it a zero,” said Kurt, folding his arms across his chest. That got a boisterous laugh out of Crixus and Dardanos.

“Such a song was not meant for youth, Harry. Why would you see it fall from tongue?”

“It was not my intent,” Harry answered, shaking his head.

“None of us have virgin ears here,” said Artie.

“Guys, it's still not appropriate,” said Mr, Schuester.

“Again, my apologies,” said Harry, with a frown.

Mercedes gave a smirk of her own and crossed her arms. “So, white boy, know something better than that vulgar tune you were sharing when we came in?”

“Like I said earlier, not really,” Harry answered, “Where I come from... how I was raised, really not a lot of time for singing.”

It was then one of the organists entered from backstage. There were several organists working the event, though they were only needed before the day's competition, and during intermissions. The console was already rising out of the floor, and so Justin met the man, and spoke quietly with him for a few moments, before returning to the gathering.

“Well, maybe Harry doesn't have something, but... uh, Vera Lynn made this song famous in 1939. I'm not her, and obviously I'm not a girl, but...”

The organist had taken a seat at the console, and began to play, the wonderful sound instantly filling the auditorium. Justin began to sing:

 

“ _We'll meet again..._

_Don't know where, don't know when,_

_but I know we'll meet again some sunny day..._

_Keep smiling through,_

_Just like you always do,_

_Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds, far away._ ”

 

Rachel couldn't resist, and picked up,

“ _So will you please say hello,_

_To the folks that I know,_

_Tell them I won't be long,_

_They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go_

_I was singing this song._ ”

 

It was magical, as the rest of the club picked up the chorus:

“ _We'll meet again,_

_Don't know where,don't know when,_

_But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day.(4)_ ”

 

Harry ended up dancing slowly with Mazhe, taking in the hopeful message of the song. Harry found it amazing how the rest of the club had easily filled in the harmonies—they all worked easily together, even though it had been Justin to start things off.

Harry and his circle spent the next hour with the club as they rehearsed their performance. Rachel was most definitely the club's best vocalist, with Jesse being her opposite. Finn, a boy who was actually taller than Mazhe—though not by much, came in a close third. Of course, the rest of the club were no slackers when it came to singing, there were no passengers. They all carried the weight of the performance.

When the next club arrived for their allotted rehearsal time, Mr. Schuester invited Harry's group to join the club as they went for breakfast. It was an excellent suggestion, as Harry realized he was actually starving.

After retrieving coats, the two groups invaded a diner not far from the theatre. The size of the party had several waitresses scrambling to join tables together so everyone could sit together.

“So, you guys are actually staying in the theatre then,” Jesse guessed.

“Yeah,” Justin answered, “We've been here since the beginning of the month, as a vacation.”

“Spring break? Bit late isn't it?”

Harry looked at Jesse, confused. Justin answered, “No, not exactly. Our spending a week here has become a bit of a yearly tradition.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Our group has somewhat diminished since yesterday,” said Harry, “Some found a few musical choices... irritating.”

Mazhe gulped down a swig of his coffee. “Gods... I have to agree with Ron, Harry. I mean, the whole point of this tournament is to actually sing, not talk to a beat. What do they call that... rap music, was it?”

“Each their own. I both envy and applaud anyone who might dare stand in the spotlight on their own accord,” Harry answered, “To stand bare without shield, permitting applause or criticism, it demands courage.”

“So, uh, where you guys from anyway?” Finn asked.

“Alberta,” Justin answered, “A small place called Eofrowin. My... uh, former school, we've submitted for a chance to attend the tournament both years now, no such luck though.”

“You've all graduated,” Rachel assumed.

“I have not quite,” Harry answered in between bites, “I will finish at the end of the current year.” He cast a strange look at Justin. Eoforwin... wasn't that the ancient name for Erwin?

“Which will make for two celebrations this summer,” said Mazhe, “I'm hoping we can have our union before the end of Last—uh, I mean, August.”

It was then Kurt noticed the ring Mazhe wore on his left ring finger.

“The pair of you are engaged?”

“Since last September,” said Harry, brightly, “We grew up together... have been inseparable. The fates have seen it fit that we be joined to the end of our days. It is a trap I willingly and eagerly fall into.”

“Congratulations,” said Mr. Schuester.

“Thank you,” said both Harry and Mazhe. 

That only led to further offers of congratulations. They were both warmed by the friendly bunch, and Harry was almost tempted to invite them. He stopped short, however. It wasn't exactly the best form, considering it was more than likely the wedding would be in Skyrim.

Kurt seemed to think for a moment, before asking, “So if you're still in school, what do the rest of you do?”

“Yeah, like dudes... you all look military or something,” said Puck.

“We work for Valicor,” Brandon answered, “Providing security is one of our jobs. And quite honestly, we can't discuss exactly what our jobs truly entail. All of it is covered under a non-disclosure agreement.”

“So please, no further questions about our jobs,” said Eric, “Really. We're not allowed to talk about it.”

“You make it sound like James Bond or something,” said Artie.

“Guys,” Mr. Schuester frowned. “It's a common business practice.”

* * *

The two groups ended up spending the remainder of the morning together, much of it spent in one of the suites that had been enlarged only a short time before, thanks to a quick call to the ministry. Of course, as far as the Glee club was concerned, it was just another room in the historic building. The morning was spent between rehearsing, and goofing off. Harry and his circle were more than entertained, and it planted a small seed in the back of his mind, to perhaps do something like this again.

The club only placed fourth at the end of the day's performance, and so was eliminated from the competition. However, since their return flight wasn't until Tuesday, they attended the rest of the tournament, as had the other groups no longer participating.

At breakfast on Tuesday, the two groups bid good bye to one another, though Harry did ask Mr. Schuester for the school's mailing address. Of course, Harry could certainly obtain such information in other ways, but to just ask for it was more polite. Of course, it was only natural that Justin shared his school's 'address'—Harry made a mental note to ask about that later.

At last back in the confines of the apartment just outside the Ragged Flagon, Harry got to thinking back on the tournament. Music was a truly powerful thing. Harry had more than a few ideas of what he planned to get for his mate as a wedding present, but... what about a song? A song about the Dragonborn.

Oh, sure, there were a few out there. Visiting the various inns and taverns in the province exposed him to the few there were. No, this one would be special. A piece sung by dozens of voices... perhaps in Dovahzul... even better. Maybe Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar would be willing to help.

* * *

_April 10, 2007 / 10 Rain's Hand, 4E202_

Harry gave nasty smirk as he pressed the seal to the envelope. There had been no additional missives since the end of March, but he wasn't concerned. If anything, it indicated the Dark Lord was simply waiting for the second missive—the one Harry was about to send. It claimed to contain knowledge from the black books he'd discovered. In reality, the page was simply a power amplification charm. However, with a bit of spell work provided by some unspeakables, the page now oozed dark magic. The spell itself was useful—something Harry had already used on several occasions—and so it would only further mislead the Dark Lord. At least that was the plan.

The past week and a half had actually been relatively quiet as far as the campaign went, with no incidents of note. It only furthered the illusion of Harry conducting research into a valuable text... perhaps it took up all of his time. In reality, the government relaxed the effort while Harry and his circle were in San Francisco, so that they wouldn't be bothered by such things. The idea had been a chance to relax and forget about current issues.

* * *

_Friday, April 13, 2007 / 13 Rain's Hand, 4E202_

“Eastmarch Hold is in your debt, dragonborn,” said Jorleif, as he accepted the sack from Mazhe. The bottom of it was stained in red. “For your efforts.” A bag that clinked with coins was passed over.

“Ah, the Dragonborn graces our court.”

Mazhe and Harry both turned to find the Jarl entering from a corridor behind them. A few others followed.

“Jarl Ulfric. Well met.”

“And to you, young Harry. Come, join us for supper.” He indicated the long table, where others were sitting down to eat.

“I'll call home, let the others know we'll be late,” Brandon offered.

Harry inclined his head, then took a seat at the table. It was not out of the ordinary for them to be a guest of the Jarl—though it had been some time since their last visit.

As they ate, it was only natural that the conversation touched on the civil war that had thus far fallen into a stalemate.

“Have you given any further thought to joining us in the fight to free Skyrim?” Ulfric asked.

“Harry still has matters he's dealing with in his own world. Then, we will gladly join your cause. The Thalmor murdered my parents while the legion stood by and watched. So one day you will have my sword, and my support.”

“As you will also have mine,” said Harry, “Just allow us to take care of a pressing personal matter.”

“This involves your 'Dark Lord',” Ulfric guessed.

Harry gave a slow nod, then smirked. “He has a date with the keeper of forbidden knowledge. Not that he knows that yet... He's...  _expected_ .”

“Hmmm. Perhaps we should put Ambassador Elenwen on that guest list,” Mazhe smirked. Harry smirked right back, while the others around the table broke out into chuckles.

“And now I remember why I like you, boy,” said Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's Housecarl.

“Aye, no love for those stinkin' elves,” Ulfric agreed.

“Everyone has their place,” said Harry, “Who are they to dictate the rights of others? We all have the right to practice our religion, to have an opinion, the right to exist. The Empire capitulated, allowing itself to be pillaged and plundered by people who believe themselves above all of us. They walk an identical path to the Dark Lord I must confront where I come from. I will always take up arms against someone who walks such a path.”

“As will I,” said Mazhe, “Uh, Vignar Grey-Mane said something along the line of, ' _When the Empire surrendered to the Aldmeri Dominion, they shamed us all_ '.”

“And he speaks the truth. So you know ol' Vignar then?” Galmar asked.

“We have dined at Jarl Balgruuf's pleasure on numerous occasions, sir,” said Harry, “College business has had us in most of Skyrim's holds on occasion.”

Just as the plates were being carried away sometime later, Brandon' mobile rang. He answered it, then left the table to speak quietly. However, the conversation proved relatively short.

“Harry, Mazhe. We have to return to Riften. There's been an incident.”

“What happened?”

“Terror attack in Trevelyan, happened about an hour ago.”

Harry made a sour face. “Unfortunate the plan involves—“

“Harry. It wasn't part of the operation. The death toll's reached fifty six, and that's expected to rise. Hundreds were injured... I'm just getting the update now. Gods... this is unbelievable.”

“Where?”

“We'd just best get back to the apartment.”

“Apologies, Jarl Ulfric. We must cut our visit short,” said Harry, “Gratitude for dinner.”

“Go. See to your affairs,” Ulfric answered, “You are always welcome here.”

“Be safe, all of you. Talos guide you,” said Mazhe, as he joined Harry and Brandon. They linked arms, before Brandon activated his mobile, and they vanished.

They touched down seconds later in the entry way into the apartment.

“Mazhe. Brandon, Harry. Good you're all here,” said Justin.

“What happened?”

“Massive explosion on a packed subway train at the peak of rush hour. Death toll's up to sixty-three,” said Justin, as they walked into the dining room. Several computers had been set up at one end of the table, and a monitor now carried the news feed.

“We're in lock down again,” Harry guessed.

“Yes. For the next twelve hours. Floo access is cut off, and they may close the portal.”

Dardanos furrowed his brows. “Your government is reacting to the incident inconsistently. None of the... incidents Harry is suspected of creating have been met by such a reaction.”

“Shit. He's right,” Eric realized.

“Dardanos. That's not exactly true. It's just, this is... this is really bad,” Justin answered.

“None of Harry's, uh, actions... have caused this sort of mayhem. It's only been a few deaths—none of them for real—and a bunch of injuries, maybe,” Brandon said, glancing at one of the monitors, “No matter who the perpetrator, the government reaction would be consistent. Trust us, we know what we're doing.”

“Could this be the work of the dark mage that travelled through the portal?” Mazhe questioned.

“It's strongly suspected, yes,” Eric agreed.

“Was there a message found?” Harry asked.

Eric shook his head. “No. So far no message or note or anything's been found.”

Mazhe scowled. “People will still think Harry did it though.”

Harry blew out a breath. “For the immediate future, there is to be no operations within the Commonwealth.”

Brandon made to object, but realized Harry was right. This particular incident would be front and centre in the media for the foreseeable future. To add to the chaos would serve no useful purpose... especially should this incident be only the beginning. He pulled out his mobile.

* * *

Brandon was dead right. The next two weeks proved to be a series of scenes out of a horror film for the Commonwealth. No less than five separate attacks were staged against the capital city's transit system alone, it being the largest and oldest in the country. Security had been tightened to near unbearable levels, and yet, incidents still took place.

Other incidents also unfolded involving a high-end restaurant, a shopping mall (wherein over three hundred people were seriously injured by an explosion in its food court), and an attack against the Parliament Buildings themselves. A last-minute evacuation prevented the deaths of many of its members.

The break came with that particular incident, since the Arcane Sciences department used a time-turner to watch the house chamber and discover the person responsible for planting the explosive.

* * *

_April 30, 2007_

The paper that morning brought black and white evidence the reign of terror had been brought to a close, as the headline shouted, TERROR RING BROKEN.

“Unfortunate that none of them were captured alive,” Eric muttered, tossing the paper back on the table.

“This was too easy,” said Brandon, shaking his head, “Whatever they were doing, my gut tells me we haven't seen the end of it.”

“But... when does it truly end?” Mazhe asked, glancing up from a heavy tome he had open in front of him, “It's the same rot, am I right?”

“They're terrorists... bullies, 'nuff said,” Tommy snorted, “We get rid of one, another comes to take their place.”

“And I feel like an ass having to heap more of the same on the Commonwealth, after they just cleared this... crap,” said Harry, sadly.

“We won't be doing anything further. You're still waiting for a missive back from Voldemort, right?” Brandon asked.

“That's right. Our plot is coming to fruition.”

“That what your gut says?”

“I believe it so.”

“We're still running a few operations in Europe, but the department's culled anything further within the Commonwealth's borders. We'll revisit that in a few weeks if Tom doesn't take the bait.”

After lunch was finished, Harry Apparated to the summit of the Throat of the World, to continue his lessons with Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar. Both dragons noted his brighter mood as they greeted him.

“What sort of event has transpired that has your spirits lifted?” queried the ancient dragon.

“ _Hiitir lost urlan(5)_ ,” Harry answered, with a soft smile.

“ _Havaas zen vuun has hel tir fah hi_ —concerning the path destiny has set out for you?”

“V _ogluuskeigaar ni(6)_. Though that end rapidly approaches,” Harry answered. “I have told you of the terrible incidents that have been taking place in my home world... more specifically back in the Commonwealth?”

“Of course,” said Sahrotaar, “These incidents have caused you much stress.”

“ _Raal faskaar(7)_ , yes. This morning, word was received that those responsible were located, though none were captured alive. Brandon carries opinion that we will see more of them.”

“ _Fos dreh hi korah_ —And what do you believe?” asked Paarthurnax.

“That he is right.”

“There will always be evil in the world, you know this, Harry.”

Harry blew out a breath. He knew Paarthurnax was right, just as Tommy was. There would always be monsters, bullies, tyrants. He brightened.

“I'm in better spirits with gratitude to the news received. Now I might move forward with my studies and training with less distraction. But I might also ask for help with a side project—a special gift for Mazhe.”

“Ah, yes, your impending union,” Sahrotaar remembered. “Have you given thought to where you might hold it?”

“I have several locations in mind. One of my first choices, I would suggest we conduct the ceremony here. However, the climate alone quickly strikes it from my list of options. It goes without saying, that both of you are invited.”

“It would be an honour,” said Sahrotaar.

“I'll likely also make invitation to Arngeir and his fellow Greybeards, seeing as they had a part to play in helping Mazhe to meet his destiny.” He thought for a moment. “Mazhe will receive a number of gifts from me when we are joined, however, there is something I wish to do that will be just a little extra special. I would compose a song, the words to be sung in _Dovahzul_. I would ask for assistance in translation.”

“It may be a difficult task,” said Paarthurnax, “But we will be glad to help you on your endeavour. You plan on making this a surprise?”

“Yes, absolutely. I'll Obliviate him if he finds out,” Harry smirked.

“Have you began work on it?”

“I have a few things,” Harry answered.

He reached into his rucksack, and pulled out his mobile. A tap of the screen converted it into a tablet, and with a few finger-gestures, he pulled up the notes he had been working on. The idea of using an electronic tablet for writing quick notes was still a novel idea, but it was growing on him.

“So I got... 'Dragonborn, by his honour is sworn. To keep evil forever at bay...'(8)”

“You should be able to translate that yourself, Harry,” said Sahrotaar, “But I would repeat ' _dovahkiin_ '. You would then have, ' _Dovahkiin, dovahkiin, naal ok zin las vahriin_ '.”

“What I wrote was... okay, but... translated, it sounds wicked.”

Harry began writing out the translated phrases, with the two dragons helping with the spelling. Much like the Common language, the spellings didn't necessarily match the pronunciation.

As it neared three o'clock, Harry bid them good bye, and returned to the apartment. Glancing around to make sure Mazhe was elsewhere, he located Brandon.

“I need to visit the group we met in San Francisco.”

“The glee club from Ohio,” Brandon remembered.

“And Mazhe can't know.”

Brandon arched an eyebrow. “Spill. What are you up to?”

Harry simply pulled out his mobile. “I'm composing something for Mazhe. It's for our union... or well, to be performed at our union.”

“Oh. I gotcha. Give me a few minutes, I'll need to talk to the DOI.”

Just after three o'clock Ohio time, Justin, Harry and Brandon took a port key that dropped them in a discreet location about a block away from William McKinley High School, in Lima, Ohio. It was Justin who handled the meeting when they entered the building, being no stranger to the workings of the school system.

Only minutes after, they were met by Mr. Schuester, who led them to the room where the club met. For Harry, it was somewhat of a curiosity, considering he'd never been in a non-magical school up to this point. Not even Sir Malcolm Davis Institute, for that matter. The corridors were rather bland, with lockers lining the walls, and doors leading off to various classrooms. The throng of students gave the group curious glances, and it had Harry a little on edge for a minute or so... until he realized he was being a little paranoid. They were mundane high school students.

They at last stepped into the music room, evidenced by the scattering of musical instruments that included a grand piano. A few of the club members were already present, and they all looked momentarily surprised, seeing Harry and his friends enter.

“Mr. P-p-potter, good to s-s-see you again.” Tina, if Harry remembered her name correctly.

“Likewise.”

“What're you doing here?” Artie—the kid who had been paralysed from the waist down in a car accident. Harry still mentally shivered at the visual.

“I need some help with a little project I'm doing. I will speak no more about it until all of your membership are present,” Harry answered, “But it is good to see you all again.”

As the minutes passed, more and more members arrived, all of them greeting Harry and his friends, before taking seats and talking amongst themselves. Finally, with the arrival of Matt, Mr. Schuester at last began the meeting.

“As you've noticed, we do have a few guests with us. I'll let Harry take it from here.”

“Gratitude.  At conclusion of the tournament over a fortnight ago, a thought came to me, as I laid out plans for my upcoming union. A song that will be performed immediately following the ceremony—“

“You want us to sing at your wedding?” Quinn asked. She had gotten slightly larger since last time he'd seen her—her due date must be close, he guessed.

“Uh, not exactly. I would request assistance with its composition.”

“But, uh, Mr. Potter, we're only high school students,” said Finn.

“I know of no one else,” Harry answered, “All of you are talented individuals, and though we have only met briefly, it is that fact alone that would have me approach you first.”

“What about the club at your own school?” Jesse asked, confused. “You travel all this way just to ask for our help?”

“I have never met them. It does come across as being rather unusual, but the simple matter at hand, is trust. I have never had occasion to see them perform. You lot, I have seen not only live, but in rehearsal. You work well together. Those factors all meet to help me form decision,” Harry explained.

“But w-w-wait. R-r-remember last t-t-time we worked f-f-for someone?”

“Tina's right,” said Artie, “Last time Mr. Schue had to step down as club director because we got paid for that mattress commercial.”

“You will not receive compensation monetarily. Instead, I would have all of you help present the composition. At present, we have not made final decision on where our union will be held, but know that no matter where it takes place, arrangements will be made so that you may attend.”

Harry could read Kurt's thoughts even without glancing at them. Meanwhile, Brandon looked like he wanted to bang his head on the wall. Oops. But, that's what happens when Harry just 'wings it', right?

“I think we should do it,” said Kurt, simply.

“What about our parents?” Mercedes asked.

“We'll handle the logistics. It goes without saying, there will be a good many adult chaperones present,” said Justin.

“Mr. Schuester?” Rachel asked, simply.

“It's up to you guys. If you want to do it, it's your call. Just remember we do have Regionals coming up.”

“We won't intrude much at first, since I am well aware you have other commitments until the latter part of Mid—the latter part of June,” Harry answered, “Quite honestly, I require the most help with putting words to melody.”

When they returned to the apartment a couple of hours later, Brandon wasn't impressed.

“Harry... Jesus Christ you can cause nightmares at times.”

“What?”

“What if you guys host your wedding here in Skyrim?” Justin pointed out. “Never mind that. Think of your rapidly-expanding guest list.”

“Oh.”

“Really. Be careful, or at least run things by us first, when it involves the non-magical world.”

“I can just—“

“No, it's fine, at least in this incidence. But realize, we can't always bend the rules,” Brandon answered, though he still frowned.

Harry blew out a breath, realizing they were right. Indeed, it would mean exposing a group of people to the magical world, and in this case, it wouldn't be by accident.

“ _Krosis_ —apologies. Words spilled from my tongue without thought.”

“Just... don't worry about it. I guess we shouldn't get too twisted, it seems like you're making another fine group of friends,” said Justin, “ _Normal_ friends. Them learning about our world is an inevitable outcome.”

* * *

During lunch the following day, Harry was startled as an owl delivered a small package to him. The letter was non-magical, and he frowned, furrowing his brows at the absence of a return address. He gestured with a finger, casting several detection spells that all came up negative. It was non-magical in nature, then.

“From your new friends, perhaps?” Dardanos guessed.

“No. I don't believe it to be so. A return address would have been placed on the package,” Harry answered, as he used a knife to cut the tape securing the flap closed.

BANG. The explosion was rather small, but enough to topple Harry's chair over, sending him crashing to the floor. A cloud of blue mist had erupted from the package.

Brandon exploded into action, rapidly spelling a bubble-charm on his face. “EVERYONE OUT! NOW!!!”

“Why?”

“Get out! NOW! Regroup in the Flagon for now!”

“Come on you lot,” Eric pressed.

“Harry, okay?” Mazhe asked, helping his mate to his feet.

“Yeah, sure. C'mon, let's go.”

The large group sped from the apartment, Tommy herding his two nieces along as they made for the comforts of the tavern.

“What's going on?” Dierge asked, seeing the group appear as one.

“We don't know. Brandon just kicked us all out,” said Harry.

“You hurt anywhere?” Mazhe asked.

“N-no. Just a little startled, that's about it,” Harry answered, pulling up a seat at the table.

No sooner had he done so, however, when Eric's mobile buzzed, indicating a message. He scanned it quickly, then put it away.

“Brandon's ordering the cistern evacuated immediately. Both the Flagon and the inner cistern.”

“Do it,” said Mazhe. “Actually, uh, first plan is, where we going?”

“Goldenglow,” Harry decided, “And then we will expect an explanation of what's going on.”

“Let's just get out of here first,” said Mazhe, already making a track for the doorway leading into the inner cistern.

“Everyone to me,” Harry called, as they entered.

“We have an emergency,” Eric continued, “We have to evacuate the entire cistern.”

“What sort of emergency?” Brynjolf questioned, as they met in the middle of the room.

“Just gather around, I'll explain when we land at Goldenglow Estate.”

With more than one mobile, everyone was carried off to the estate within seconds. The mercenaries were momentarily startled at the sudden arrival, but relented, recognizing the guild membership. The sudden brightness of mid day had everyone squinting for a minute or so, before Brynjolf again questioned, “All right, Mr. Gomrass, explain.”

“Harry received a small package through the post a few minutes ago. Opening it caused a small explosion which released a small cloud of blue vapour.”

“Never mind knocking me on my arse,” Harry muttered.

“Brandon immediately sent us out of the flat, since the mist could have been anything. It turns out, the mist contained a deadly virus that would have caused terrible mutations and eventual death to anyone who became infected by it.”

“A virus?” Rune looked confused.

“Have you ever been ill from something... uh, feeling unwell?” Eric questioned.

“Oh. Well, sure.”

“When you're feeling like that, it's likely the result of a virus. A microscopic organism that invades our bodies. When we're unwell, it's because our bodies are fighting the invader.

“Except in this case, the _Tyrant Virus_ , or T-virus, for short, causes terrible mutations in people and things that become infected with it.”

“Gods. I...” Harry felt weak, realizing how close to disaster he'd come.

“I don't mean to scare people, but... the apartment's off limits for the next while. The Ministry of Health and the Ministry of Science and Technology will be going over the place with a fine-toothed-comb to make sure the virus is eradicated.”

“What's Brandon doing?” Harry asked.

“Talking to his counterparts in a non-magical organization about it. The Department of Information's also on it—it's a big deal, guys.”

“Brandon's initial reaction would lead us to that conclusion,” said Crixus, furrowing his brows.

“This idea of... viruses... is still confusing,” said Dardanos.

“Just... realize, this kind of virus, it was made as a weapon of war.”

“Why haven't we heard about it?” Mazhe asked, “I mean, I'm in around you guys enough to see the papers and stuff like that.”

“Why do you think?”

Mazhe furrowed his brows, thinking a moment. “Oh. Of course.”

“Exactly. Word of such terrible things would never reach the papers, no matter how much someone would try and do so. Harry, you remember a few years ago, getting that letter from Gringotts?”

“You weren't around then,” Mazhe protested.

“I wasn't. Doesn't mean I don't know about them.”

Harry frowned. Of course, they would know about his business, whether he wanted them to or not. He let the matter be, though, knowing they only took an interest in order to keep him safe.

“The letter informing me of the sale of all Umbrella shares.”

“Umbrella Corporation created the _Tyrant Virus_. It's one of the reasons the company went tits up. The U.S. government didn't like the idea they were making biological weapons.”

“This... virus. Can it be cured?” Delvin questioned.

“Uh... I don't know,” Eric asked, “Brandon would likely know. That mundane organization he belongs to, they deal with situations like this. _Bio-terrorism Security Assessment Alliance(9)_ , or the BSAA for short. You'll have to ask Brandon for more info about it, I'm just as much in the dark about it as you are.”

“But... why now? Why's this happening to him now?” questioned Tommy, momentarily glancing down at his two nieces, who were clinging to his legs. “J—for Christ’s sake, they could've infected my nieces.”

“I would suspect the source of this attack lies at the feet of those responsible for the attacks staged over the past fortnight within the Commonwealth's borders,” said Dardanos.

“And I would agree. Though this time, the attack was against us directly,” said Harry.

Eric's mobile buzzed again. He opened it, and glanced at the message, before putting it away.

“Confirmed to be the T-Virus. Looks like we'll be needing alternate accommodation for the next while.”

“Aringoth will provide shelter for us,” said Brynjolf.

“Right. That part is settled. Rest of us, we'll retreat back to the College.”

“A sound option. We can take the opportunity to break words with Tolfdir. Much time has passed,” said Harry.

“Too much time,” Mazhe agreed.

* * *

It was May 4 before they were allowed back into the flat, and even then, officials from at least three different branches of the government were present. For the first time since the apartment had been built, Harry felt truly uncomfortable being in its surroundings.

“The mail ward's been reapplied here,” said Brandon, grimly, “Everything's gonna be checked by the Department of Information before being delivered. Gods above, can't believe this happened.”

“But it did,” said Harry, with a scowl. “Since this... virus... was sent to my person, we have a right to know exactly what it is.”

“Though a few fellow members in the organization I'm connected with would disagree with me disclosing anything, it's only fair you know, since we can't promise you won't be targeted again. You're somewhat aware of Umbrella Corporation.”

“My family had a large number of shares in the company. Gringotts sold them off just before the company collapsed.”

“Because the government pulled their trading license. They were making biological weapons and selling them on the black market, in simple terms. Particularly, the virus we were nearly exposed to, is called the Tyrant Virus, or T-Virus for short. Uh... some of the images I'm about to show are quite graphic.”

“Dobby.” Harry called.

_Pop_ . “Harry Potter call for Dobby?”

“I would have you see mistress Erica and her sister into the playroom.”

The two girls simply giggled as Dobby led them out of the room. It wouldn't be the first time the elf was tasked with taking care of Tommy's nieces.

Brandon flicked his wand at the pensieve resting at the centre of the dining room table, causing a holographic scene to begin playing. And graphic, he wasn't kidding. The scenes were all relatively short, showing Brandon and a few others dealing with creatures that were better termed zombies. The monsters were mindless, and if not for the blood, Harry could have mistaken them for Draugr.

Perhaps even more frightening, was a scene which depicted a massive... well... plant, if it could be called that, with massive tentacles.

“Yes, the virus can also infect plant life, as this scene demonstrates.”

The scenes continued for several more minutes, before they finally ended.

“Gods above,” said Mazhe, uncomfortably, “And I thought the Draugr were bad.”

“Agreed,” said Miraak, “Why would they create such abominations?”

“It's all about warfare,” said Brandon.

“And coin,” said Harry, “Coin more than anything else.”

“And war means lots of coin,” said Justin, “There are many who will do just about anything to obtain more of it.” He gave Mazhe a pointed look.

“Gods... perhaps there are many things I will do to earn a few septims, but this... what we just saw... such things... they are crimes against nature. Truly depraved, actions that are no better than those of Alduin.”

Harry scowled. “Should I discover the identity of the ones responsible for sending that wonderful  _mal nutiid_ —little present, I shall be presenting them one of my own. They wish to unleash abominations on innocent people? Perhaps, they should be introduced to the abominations that live in Apocrypha.”

“Harry...”

“ _Dii mahnd los hren—_ my decision is made.”

* * *

_May 8, 2007 / 8 Second Seed, 4E202_

The owl arrived even before breakfast was set out. The tell-tale stamp on the envelope told Harry the Ministry had already checked it, and an additional stamp warned that the letter inside contained a port key. Since it was being delivered intact, the government deemed it safe—though in this case, it was an exception.

 

_Harry,_

_The time is come for you and I to meet face to face, and discuss long-term objectives. Find a port key enclosed with this letter, which will be activated by the pass phrase, “Future through Purity”. You will come alone. Doing otherwise, or sending others in your place will have fatal consequences._

_\- Tom_

 

As he finished reading, the tail feather from a crow fell out of the envelope and dropped to the table.

“Well?” Brandon prompted.

“This is it. He sends a port key that will carry me to his location.”

“Then let's—“ Justin began, but Harry held up a hand.

“I must initially go alone. Brandon, Eric, have the rest of your team at the ready for my call. The same goes for the rest of you. The trap must be swung closed before we proceed.”

“Careful, Harry, he'll likely have most of his followers present,” Justin warned.

“I'm counting on it. I'll summon all of you while Hermaeus Mora is speaking to Tom.”

“You know I don't like this,” said Mazhe.

“I know. Just... trust me. The knowledge that you all stand at the ready to provide assistance, it helps me to stay the course and do what I must. Wish me luck.”

The pair embraced tightly, with Mazhe planting a kiss on his mate's forehead.

“Go then. Walk the last mile of the path the gods set you on.”

Each of the circle embraced him also, all carrying words of encouragement, further strengthening his resolve. This was it.

“May Talos protect you, Harry,” Mazhe said.

Harry retrieved the black book from his satchel and activated the trap, then gripped the feather, whispering, “Future through purity”. He felt the familiar hook about the naval, as the port key activated.

He landed roughly, and before he could get his bearings, he was slammed up against a wall by a powerful banishing charm.

“Ah, Harry. Good of you to make it,” said Voldemort, with fake pleasantry. The book had fallen to the floor a number of feet away, and as Harry tried to shake out the cobwebs, Voldemort continued, “You are a fool, Harry Potter. To allow yourself to be brought into the very seat of my power, where I am surrounded by my supporters. You trust too easily. A fatal mistake.”

“I guess I should have expected that,” Harry muttered, still trying to regain his bearings. He tried to crawl over to the book, but Voldemort simply summoned it with a wave of his hand.

“So, you do bring a gift.”

“I do as promised,” Harry managed, making sure his mental shields were still in place. Everything was sound, thanks to the years of training. Healer Ferris had conducted harsh drills while Brandon and Eric pounded him with spells... now it was all paying off.

“Harry, Harry, Harry. Do you not see? No matter what you may have done, our paths are still very different. Your actions are driven by anger and fury, while mine, only work to restore balance to the Wizarding world. Regretfully, none of those plans can ever involve you.”

“But...”

“But, what, Harry? I do thank you for the gift. I plan on studying its contents... only after I do away with _you_. Good bye, Harry Potter.”

Harry knew what was coming, but was still somewhat scattered, and was slow to react to the Dark Lord's hissed, “ _Avada Kedavra_ .”

Brilliant emerald green ballooned into his vision, then, darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Fallout from the meeting, wherein Voldemort has a date with the Daedric Prince of forbidden knowledge, and not all escape the ensuing chaos unscathed;_   
> _(1) William Fox, b. Jan 1, 1879, d. May 8, 1952, was a pioneering film producer. He founded the Fox Film Corporation in 1915, and was also responsible for the building of the Fox Theatres, including the one in San Francisco. Twentieth Century Fox, and Twenty-first Century Fox are two of several media corporations which continue to carry his name._   
> _(2) The infamous “Run, Joey, Run” video Rachel creates with Finn, Puck, and Jesse in 1x17._   
> _(3) Remember, Harry's spent a year in 73BCE Capua. That's not even counting the use of another special object on his person._   
> _(4) “We'll Meet Again” was a massive hit for Vera Lynn in 1939, and also, of course, a beacon of hope for anyone seeing a loved one boarding a ship for the war front._   
> _(5) “hiitir lost urlan” - [a] matter was resolved._   
> _(6) “vogluuskeigaar ni” - unfortunately not._   
> _(7) “raal faskaar” - put softly. Harry means, 'put mildly'._   
> _(8) “Song of the Dragonborn”, Common language translation._   
> _(9) I hope you were all paying attention back in Harry's second year. Of course, this is the realm of “Resident Evil”. Expect further incidents upcoming, though it's unlikely they'll dominate the plot._   
> _As to the terrorist cell, this attack was actually rather mild, compared to a few incidents that I'm cooking up. The end of Voldemort, most definitely does not mean the end of the story, as you'll all very quickly see, though not in this story._


	38. The Grand Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallout from the meeting, wherein Voldemort has a date with the Daedric Prince of forbidden knowledge, and not all escape the ensuing chaos unscathed;

**38: THE GRAND DECEPTION**

**May 8, 2007 -**

* * *

“ _Vulom aal fah tiid mu'ul, nunon fah ro wah kos vokrii. Haan nis agos vothni vulom.” (darkness may for a time rule, only for balance to be restored. Light cannot exist without darkness.)_

_\- Harry Stormcrown_

 

Everything hurt, though specifically, Harry felt like he'd been walloped in the chest with a sledgehammer. He felt dizzy, and his ears were ringing, as he tried to sit up. 'Where am I?' he wondered. He reached down to access his satchel, then realized it was missing, as were the clothes he'd been wearing. Right. Killing curse equals dead.

The world was starting to come into focus, though... there really wasn't much to see. Just a white void of some sort. Surely, this couldn't be it though. After all, Harry had been to Sovngarde, the Nords' afterlife. And if he could still think, and feel...

Right before his eyes, the void began to change, transforming into a close facsimile of the said Nord afterlife, right down to the whale bridge and Shor's hall. The only thing absent was Tsun. Better, he thought. Now if he could find some clothes—the thought had not completed when he found himself properly clothed in robes he'd not worn in years: his mages' robes he wore when he was a student at the College.

His head was no longer swimming, and so he climbed to his feet, but he still remained in one spot, as though still uncertain of what was truly happening. As his senses further adjusted to his surroundings, he finally focused on something that was thumping and muttering—no, whimpering—in the brush a short distance away. Harry was at first concerned, but... no, more curious as to what it could be, and so he closed the distance.

What he found had him recoiling in shock. It looked to be a child, but... it resembled something from the terrible images Brandon had shown—it looked to have been infected by the T-Virus. It appeared as though it had been flayed alive! Who would do something such as this to a child?!

“It is beyond help.”

Harry wheeled on the spot, to find three faces long dead to him: His mother, his father, and Sirius. Sirius looked younger, less haggard, the life once again restored to his very bones. His mother and father looked fresh in love, though they'd only just left Hogwarts, their entire lives stretched out before them.

“My son. My wonderful, brave son,” Lily spoke.

“M-mum? Dad?”

“We are so proud of you,” said James, beaming.

“But... how? You're... you're all dead.”

“Sadly, yes, Harry,” answered Sirius, a look of sadness briefly crossing his face.

“Then... I'm dead too?”

“No, not exactly, dear,” answered Lily, smoothly, as they left the strange child behind, and walked toward the bridge.

“But...” Harry raised a hand to the cursed scar, and almost yelped in surprised. It was gone. “But... I should be meeting you in the afterlife. I was not presented with opportunity to defend myself.”

“And that, love, made all the difference in the world.”

“I... reason still eludes me.”

“You did not defend yourself.”

“I had no chance!”

“It still makes a world of difference, son,” said James, flicking his eyes back to the child-like thing that was still making strange sounds in the bushes.

“Wait. Gods. Oh, gods... that... thing... was in me. It was—I was a Horcrux,” Harry said, as realization dawned on him. “Then... his actions only destroy the soul fragment...”

“Leaving your soul intact, and completely your own.”

“And this... abomination...” Harry pointed a finger at the thing still thumping about in the bushes.

“It is beyond anyone's help,” answered James.

“I am still at a loss as to how I came to be here,” Harry persisted, “Horcrux or no, I should still be on my way to the afterlife.”

“Harry, what happened at the end of the Triwizard tournament?”

“The resurrection ritual.”

“And during that ritual, what did the traitorous rat use as an ingredient?”

“My blood,” Harry answered, and then it dawned on him. “Shor's beard. Doing so, he bound me to him.”

“Precisely, dear,” said Lily, still beaming, “The very blood which I sacrificed to protect you all those years ago, now courses through his veins as it does yours. Unintentionally, perhaps, but in doing so, he also tethered you to life.”

“So if he dies, I will die also.”

“No, not at all,” James answered, “It's a one-way-street for poor old Tom. Though with what you have planned for him, he won't have to worry about death.”

“Though he will wish for it many times over,” said Harry, with a smirk. “How is it you know of my plots?”

“Come, Harry. We have been watching you since we arrived in the afterlife. Though some of your activities have both your mother and I wanting to bang our heads on a wall somewhere, you've grown up well, gained allies neither of us could have ever imagined, and most importantly, met your destiny on your own terms, not allowing others to dictate for you.”

“And both Prongs and I should also congratulate you on your impending union. You might want to pass on a message to Mr. Stormcrown that, should he ever mistreat you or make you unhappy, we will hunt him down and make his afterlife a memorable one for the wrong reasons.”

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

“Mazhe and I just fit. Guess I should've seen that coming. We practically grew up together. Now, I—but wait. If I'm here... how do I get back?”

“You just have to wish it so. But Harry,” said Sirius, “There is something you need to know, before you do.”

“It's important, then,” Harry guessed.

“You know about Albus.”

“Gods,” Harry snorted, “The fool has been put on a very exclusive list, so yes, I know of the man he is.”

“He will become what Tom Riddle is,” James warned, “Tread very carefully in any dealings with him. He works with the very group who unleashed a series of terrorist attacks in Trevelyan.”

“He was also behind the booby-trapped virus they sent you a few days ago. Be extra vigilant, Tom's death does not mean the end of problems.”

“I... I somewhat suspected that, mum. Though I would wash my hands of matters, as my destiny is about to be fulfilled. Yet I cannot, knowing the world would still suffer... as would Valicadia. It does not pain you knowing I have all but renounced my English heritage?”

“Love, all that matters to your father and I, is whether or not you are healthy and happy. We may not exactly approve of some of the people you associate with, but you are a grown man, and if they make you happy, then so be it.”

Harry grinned in spite of himself. “Oh. You mean the guild. They're criminals, yes, but they're practically family. And with Mazhe leading, our far more sinister activities will be curtailed. Mazhe is a good man, mum, but... you already know that, right?”

“It's time for you to get back,” said Sirius.

“Remember, son. We'll always be watching you, no matter where you are. We'll always be proud of you.”

“And dear... should you land yourself back here before your two-hundredth birthday, we won't make a very pleasant welcoming party.” Lily spoke as though she were dead serious, but her eyes danced with amusement.

“Uh, I will keep that in mind, mum.”

“Now begone, Harry Stormcrown.”

And suddenly, the world around seemed to vanish into a black void, with voices echoing around him, sounding as though he were underwater. He had fallen to the ground, slumped up against a wall and somewhat upright, his legs folded under him. Perhaps not the most ideal position, but...

“M-m-my lord?” he heard a female voice simper. 

“I do not require assistance,” the Dark Lord snarled.

He could sense no one close to him, and so dared to crack open an eyelid. Sure enough, Voldemort was climbing back to his feet, and summoning the black book.

“Check the boy and tell me if he is dead,” Voldemort hissed, before opening the cover of the book.

A slick, oily dark tentacle exploded from the inside of the book, to lift Voldemort off the ground, with a second poised to pierce his skull. The gathered Death Eaters exploded into action, casting powerful curses at the book, but nothing worked. Then, seconds later, a black cloud of eyes formed, oily and octopus-like, and they all focused on the now trapped Dark Lord.

“Well done, Harry,” came the slick, syrupy voice of Hermaeus Mora.

Now, Voldemort knew he was in serious trouble. What sort of sorcery had the boy done?! Who was this... this monster? He tried to reach his magic, but became even more frantic, discovering it was out of reach. Far worse, the strange tentacle that clutched him tightly was actually burning into him, causing immense pain.

“You have done exactly as I have asked, and so you shall be richly rewarded,” Hermaeus Mora continued, and now, the rest of the assembled mass realized Harry was still alive. The room momentarily erupted into spell fire, but nothing worked, as all the spells died before they reached their target.

“Foolish mortals!” the Daedric Prince growled, causing the very room to shake with fury. “The next one to cast a spell will join your unfortunate master!”

“I would do as he asks,” Harry says, sitting up. The eyes blinked in Harry's direction, and a heavy tome seemed to materialize in front of him.

“A gift, friend of my champion. I would have you share it with him.”

“I will do that sir. And you have my gratitude. Uh... I do need to summon my circle, so we may conclude business here.”

“Do as you must,” the Daedric prince answered. 

Harry quickly reached down into his satchel and retrieved his mobile. He pressed a few buttons, quickly transmitting his location back to Mazhe.

Hermaeus Mora, meanwhile, appeared to appraise his new 'toy'.

“Such a wealth of knowledge," he said, back to using his sticky, syrupy voice, "Knowledge I had never considered. And all of it, shall be added to the endless stacks of my library."

“Who... what... what are you?” one of the Death Eaters at last asked.

“Oh. None of you have been properly introduced. I will correct that presently. I introduce Hermaeus Mora, the keeper of forbidden knowledge. His library is vast and endless, containing many secrets. Secrets and knowledge, such as dear Tom here possesses. When we met a few months past, he tasted the knowledge Tom possessed, and tasked me with arranging a meeting. _This_ meeting.

“Since the beginning of Frostfall—October, the Commonwealth of Valicadia has been working on my behalf, to engineer this meeting. To instill the false belief within your ranks that I, Harry Stormcrown, had betrayed the light, perhaps opening up my own side of the war. In fact, all of this was a simple facade, a grand deception.

“My close circle of friends all still live, sequestered away by the Commonwealth, until this event was concluded. The professors at Hogwarts were all aware of the plan, and readily cooperated.”

“And yet you killed dozens of worthless Muggles and traitors—“ Malfoy objected.

“No. No one was killed in any action by the government. It was all an illusion, which I daresay was rather convincing.”

“And even should you survive here, Potter, your name will still be ruined!” another Death Eater sneered, “Whether they are dead or not, you are still seen as a traitor.”

“The government will see to the clearing of my name, when the plan is revealed.”

“Indeed, Harry, it was a grand deception. Maphala would like you,” said Hermaeus Mora, with a chuckle.

Conversation was momentarily interrupted, as a blur of bodies landed nearby. Harry's circle had arrived, along with a contingent of SOU. The group easily outnumbered the Death Eaters.

“All right, Harry?” Mazhe asked.

“We're just about done,” Harry answered, nodding to the events happening on the opposite side of the room.

“Well played, Potter. Well played,” the Dark Lord conceded.

“I do only what is necessary. With this act, I conclude the prophecy put in motion by Dumbledore's hand—another fool who will one day also meet justice. The Daedric prince has provided me means to see it done.”

Harry paused, feeling a twinge of magic wash over him.

“ _Zu'u Harry_ _Strundu'ul. Hi lost drehlaan zomaar truk(1),_ Tom Marvolo Riddle _._ Terrible things all in the name of fleeing from a fate from which no mortal can ever escape: death. With the steps I take in this place at this time, you will have your wish, at great price. For you will suffer a fate far worse. To walk an endless library of knowledge, all of it within your grasp, ready to be consumed, but you will be unable to practice it. You will wish for death, but death does not know the realm of Hermaeus Mora."

Harry bowed deeply.

“Sir. I leave this blight on our world to your mercies. You have done us a great service on this day, to which I am happy to be in your debt.”

Hermaeus Mora chuckled. “So mote it be, Harry. Your words please me as have your actions.”

The second tentacle blasted into Voldemort's forehead, and with a terrible crack, the Dark Lord vanished, the book dropping to the floor with a loud SMACK.

“And, uh, sir. In time, I would send to your care one more foolish mage who oversteps purpose. The knowledge Tom possesses will pale in comparison."

Hermaeus Mora let out another chuckle. “Indeed? I eagerly await your offering, then.” The eyes too, faded.

No one seemed to move for several moments, as though everyone were petrified by the Daedric prince's departure. Then, the room exploded into gunfire and spellfire. A number of dark witches and wizards attempted to Disapparate, but quickly realized they couldn't—Eric had hastily deployed an anti-Appirition ward, along with an anti-port key ward, ensuring the fight would end there and then.

“ _Fus RO DAAAH_!” Miraak roared, sending a group of five Death Eaters to the afterlife. After all, soft bodies colliding violently with a hard surface tended to do that.

Dardanos and Crixus had quickly teamed up, now wielding MP5 assault rifles. Additional training had quickly brought them up to speed with modern weapons and modern combat practices—although in that case, it was more of a refresher, considering Harry had taught them the basics back in Capua.

Now, they worked methodically, chasing a pair of Death Eaters out of the room, sporadic gunfire now echoing in the corridor. Harry smirked as he charged up a powerful shock spell—then stopped.

“Well done, Harry.”

“Professor Snape,” said Harry, as they pair met, though Harry was still well aware of the combat going on around them.

“No longer a professor, Harry. You have your mother's eyes.”

“I know—“ he flung an ice spike at a Death Eater trying to sneak up on them. “I look more like my dad though. Why would you join us and not make final stand?”

“I have made a lot of mistakes, Harry. But I swore to protect you when your mother was killed.”

“Harry!” Mazhe shouted, and Harry spun to find a group of three Death Eaters closing on them. He charged up both an ice spike and a shock spell, while Snape brandished his wand.

“We'll finish this conversation at a more appropriate time,” Harry decided, before unleashing his spells.

Both impacted the targets, while Snape hissed, “ _Sectumsempra_ ”.

The spell was rather effective, slicing the man's arm off just below the shoulder joint, and leaving a terrible gash across his chest that sprouted a geyser of blood.

“Effective.”

“A spell of my own creation,” said Snape, as they retreated to Mazhe's location.

“Dismemberment curse. Useful,” Mazhe agreed.

More gunfire erupted from the corridor, and the two Death Eaters Dardanos and Crixus had been chasing burst back into the room, a trail of blood behind them. They tottered a few more steps, before collapsing.

“ _Fo KRAH DIIIIN_!” Miraak roared, and a blast of frost rolled across the floor to envelop the gravely injured opponents. Their last thoughts wished for warmth.

The two former gladiators then set their sights on another pair of Death Eaters that were giving a single SOU agent difficulty. His partner lay lifeless on the floor, a pool of blood spilling from a massive wound in his chest.

With the odds suddenly against them, the two Death Eaters took off, trying to shield themselves from the onslaught of vicious firepower.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Brandon and Eric both hissed, and the dark wizards dropped like they'd been shot. Perhaps they had been, for they breathed their last.

“Good shooting—“ Eric collapsed, the green bloom of light having acted like a camera flash. Brandon spun around to find the source of the curse, but found it already taken care of. Another SOU agent had felled him—only to be felled himself, from an identical curse.

Harry had seen it, and retaliated by launching an ice spike at the woman's head. She actually laughed, dodging the spell.

“Itty... bitty... Potter wants to play,” she mocked, in a terrible baby-like voice.

“Careful,” Snape warned, “It's Belletrix Lestrange.”

“Ah, my godfather's cousin,” Harry remembered, sounding pleasant, but he was all business. “Sirius was one of very few good people to come from the Blacks.” 

He launched another pair of ice spikes, which the dark witch easily dodged. She countered with a purple curse that Harry easily deflected up at the ceiling. It exploded on contact, sending bits of plaster raining on the combatants below.

“Nice try. Let's try something different, then.” 

Harry flung his hand out at the ground, causing a purple orb to appear, and fade, revealing a Seeker.

“Your creature doesn't frighten me—“ Belletrix ate her words, as she was staggered by the Seeker's ranged attack—which somewhat resembled water traveling in slow motion.

“ _Avada kedavra!_ ” She snarled, and the Seeker was instantly destroyed.

“Enough!” Harry snarled, “Together.”

Three spells launched simultaneously joined gunfire from the two gladiators. Belletrix might have been nimble, but against such a concentration, there was no chance. Snape's special spell narrowly missed, as did Harry's ice spike, but Mazhe's concentrated fireball connected, as did a hail of bullets. She collapsed in a heap.

“ _Avada kedavra_ ,” Snape cursed, and the witch was no more.

With the fall of Belletrix Lestrange, most of the remaining Death Eaters threw down their wands and surrendered.

“It's over! Surrender now,” Brandon growled.

“Surrender?” Malfoy mocked, “Never.”

He let loose a spell at the first open target—Tommy. The spell nailed him just below the knee, and he collapsed in a heap, as Miraak unleashed his fire breath on the blond Death Eater. Naturally, the fire not only roasted the man alive, but spread to the wall behind him.

“ _Aquamenti_!” Brandon shouted, pouring a stream of water on the flames before they got out of control.

“Tommy!” Harry was at his fallen friend's side in a heartbeat. He was thrashing about, and it looked like the flesh was being peeled off his leg.

“What is it?” Mazhe asked.

“Flesh rot curse,” said Snape, “Stun him.”

“ _Stupefy_ ,” said Justin, and Tommy fell still—though still quivering from the curse attacking his leg.

“Remove his leg or it will kill him.”

“What?” Harry looked horrified.

“It has to be done,” said Brandon, pointing his wand at Tommy's leg, just above the knee joint. Before Harry could further protest, Brandon cast a strong cutting curse. Harry, Justin, and Mazhe quickly joined in casting healing charms to close up the wound.

“I'll get him to the hospital,” said one of the SOU agents, kneeling beside the injured man.

“Take him back to the flat and summon Healer Ferris,” said Brandon.

“Sir.” The SOU agent gripped Tommy about the shoulder, before activating a port key. They vanished in a blur of limbs.

“Rest of you,” said Brandon, “Round up the captives and take them to secure holding in Trevelyan so we can begin interrogations.”

Mazhe touched Harry on the shoulder. “Harry?”

“I...” Harry looked up, his face wet with tears.

“He'll be okay,” said Brandon.

“I know. Now... now I know what you felt, Mazhe. When you finished off Alduin. Now I know,” he repeated.

“It's over. For the both of us.” Mazhe knelt down beside his mate, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“As you've freed me from a burden of my own, Mr. Potter,” said Snape. He looked relieved.

“Come with us if you want to be free of your other master,” said Harry, “You still somewhat answer to Dumbledore, do you not?”

“Painfully so.”

“Our growing community in Skyrim could benefit from a world-renowned potions master,” Justin agreed.

“Right. Let us return to Riften for now, and pause to recompose ourselves. The government will desire word on what has transpired here.”

“Brandon will likely see to that, Harry,” said Justin, “We now have as much time as we need. The pressure's off you—all of us now.”

* * *

They arrived back at the apartment to find Tommy in the care of Healer Ferris. He was awake, his two nieces at his bedside, and he looked to be in good spirits, all considering.

“You are well?” Harry asked.

“It's all good. Healer Ferris has me booked for a prosthetic fitting in a few days.”

Harry furrowed his brows. “You have still been further maimed by our world. This should not have happened.”

“Harry. It's not your fault. I said I have your back, and I meant it.”

“No matter. The gods still keep you with us.”

“Harry?” Harry turned to find Ron and Hermione had entered the room. “Is it true? You defeated V-voldemort?” Ron looked hopeful.

“He's gone, never to threaten the mortal plane again. He serves a new master for all of eternity,” said Harry, with an air of finality.

He found himself smothered in the embrace of his old school friends.

“Careful, mate. Mazhe might get jealous,” Harry joked.

“You... you're in good spirits?” Hermione asked.

“A load has been lifted from my shoulders. I dealt out death today, but with hands set to purpose. If you worry of my thought, strike it from concern.”

“But...”

“He did what he had to do, Hermione,” said Justin. “He's trained for this since he was rescued.”

“I... well...”

“I'm a soldier, Hermione. I knew of my fate since I was eight years old. The Commonwealth made certain of that. I have studied, and trained, all for this single purpose, that concluded today.”

Harry turned to Brandon.

“Has the location of the battle been determined?”

“Malfoy Manor,” Brandon answered, “It was in Wiltshire. The Commonwealth has secured the premises, and a CSU is on scene to document evidence. I will need to return to the Ministry so I can deliver a report in person.”

“See it done.”

“Aye aye, capt'n,” Brandon smirked, before pulling out his mobile, and activating the port key feature. He vanished.

“Err... Harry, what's Snape doing here?” Ron asked, “We saw him in your common room.”

“A circumstance of which I am equally still in the dark about. He knew my mother, and made pact to protect me. He seeks to escape Dumbledore's influence.”

“Our little community here can benefit from his area of expertize,” said Justin, “He's a world-renowned potions master.”

“He's still a slimy snake,” Ron muttered.

“And retaining old grudges is not productive,” said Harry, “He teaches no longer.”

“Harry... now that Voldemort is gone, what happens to us? I mean, all of the families that have been moved here?” Hermione asked.

“Actually, we'll likely not want to start moving people back for some time yet,” Justin answered, “And it's not like we'll force anyone. There is still a danger from sympathizers and that kind of thing. You're all under the Commonwealth's protection, and we want to make absolutely sure things are safe before you're allowed to return to England.”

“The government will likely interrogate all the prisoners first,” said Tommy.

“Exactly. Wizarding England still has a lot of problems. They need to be solved, or we end up with another dark lord in a generation or so.”

“Malfoy, for example,” Harry muttered.

“Or any other man raised, head filled with hatred,” said Crixus. He and Dardanos stood off to the side.

“Or indoctrinated with it,” said Dardanos.

“Right on both counts,” Justin agreed. “To make things truly safe, old beliefs have to be broken.”

“Additionally, I have learned something further of Dumbledore's recent activities,” said Harry.

“What sort of things?”

“Dumbledore now follows the same path as Voldemort. My mother gave warning.”

Dardanos arched an eyebrow. “And how did she deliver such message. She walks the afterlife.”

“The answer is complicated. Perhaps, I would show memory, as attempting to explain will only further confuse the tale.” 

Harry stretched out an arm. “ _Accio_ pensieve.”

Required item floated into his hand only a few seconds later. Harry then drew the appropriate memory from his temple, and placed it into the liquid, causing it to shimmer a silvery colour.

“I won't follow, but all are welcome to view it.”

His circle was gone for a few minutes. Emily and Rosie seemed content to entertain themselves in a corner of the room, and so Harry found himself falling into a sort of review of what had just happened. He was truly free. Sure, Dumbledore was still somewhat of a threat, but really. There was nothing absolutely binding about Harry getting involved. The Commonwealth would likely like nothing more than to have a go at the 'Great Albus Dumbledore', considering how many times the man had interfered in their business.

Now, with the pensieve testimony to back it up, they could likely hang the man out to dry. Sending him off to Apocrypha would certainly be the cherry on top, but, really. Harry felt lighter, more free than ever before.

People began to emerge from the pensieve, and Harry again found himself in a crushing embrace, this one from his love.

“Harry... gods, I find myself in envy. Though... I... I could have lost you, and not known.”

“It was a risk I accepted. The gods return me to your side.”

“All I could hope for.” They kissed deeply.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione breathed, as she finally recovered from what she'd seen.

“You truly have the gods on your side,” said Dardanos.

“ _Vulom aal fah tiid mu'ul, nunon fah ro wah kos vokrii. Haan nis agos vothni vulom._ ”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry... English, please.”

“Sorry. I said, darkness may for a time rule, only for balance to be restored. Light cannot exist without darkness.”

“Well put,” Justin agreed, “All of us have both the light and the dark within us.”

“It falls to intent,” said Crixus.

“Yes, exactly. It is our choices that make us who we are. Not genetics, not our environment. Our choices, nothing more.”

“But... people learn behaviours from their environment,” Hermione challenged.

“Yes, but it still falls to their choices,” Justin rebutted, “No matter what, it still falls back to a person's choices.”

“All right, the lot of you. Out.” The group turned to find Healer Ferris at the door.

“Err... yes ma'am,” Justin grinned. “Come on, let's take our conversation elsewhere.”

“Get some rest, Tommy,” said Mazhe.

“Right... sure,” Tommy grinned.

“Healer Ferris, if I could have a word when you conclude with your, patient,” said Harry.

“Give me a few minutes.”

Late that afternoon, Harry and his circle received a rather unexpected visitor in the Queen herself. The fireplace roared to life, expelling a group of SOU agents, before the lady herself stepped through.

“Your grace,” Harry grinned, giving a bow of the head.

“You are well?”

“Relieved,” Harry answered, “Please, join us. Uh... you pair, take the entrance leading to the cistern.”

He gestured to two of the SOU agents in the Queen's company.

“Seal the door from entry.”

The two chosen agents glanced first at the Queen, then to Brandon.

Brandon furrowed his brows. “Well?”

“Sir.”

“Harry has trained with us. You should all be aware of that by now,” Brandon snapped, “He's practically one of us.”

“Yes, I couldn't agree more,” said the Queen, “Perhaps that should be made a little more official. But first, details, young man! The Dark Lord is gone?”

“Yes ma'am,” Harry answered, “Hermaeus Mora banished him to Apocrypha. Brandon witnessed it, as did the SOU team, Justin, Mazhe, Miraak, Tommy, Dardanos, and Crixus. Tom Riddle will never threaten our world again.”

“You have the gratitude of the nation, Harry. We will be forever in your debt.”

“A debt I would never call due,” Harry answered, “It is by the resources provided by the Commonwealth that I succeed. Both the Commonwealth and I were united to purpose, and saw it to conclusion.

“You provided me with tools and allies, great people I call dear friends. No, there is no debt between us.”

Queen Susan laughed. “All right, fair enough. I would love to see how it turned out, however.”

“A pensieve memory? Easy enough.”

Harry again held out a hand, and summoned the pensieve from Tommy's room.

“It should still be in there.”

“No, actually it contains a viewing of the sex tape I was going to send to the _National Daily Chronicle_ ,” Brandon smirked.

“What?!”

The room collapsed into gales of laughter at the expression on Harry's face.

“Just remember, McAllister, payback. Payback, dear friend.”

“Bring it on.”

The Queen spent the rest of the afternoon and dinner, as she got a clear picture of what had truly happened. Now, she was as relieved as Harry was. Of course, she still had concerns, seeing the comments of Harry's mother. They paled in contrast to the threat the Dark Lord had posed. Perhaps, with statements in hand, she could convince the ICW to take up matters. No matter. Truly dark times could be put behind them.

* * *

It was May 11 before any sort of media release was made about the events. Of course, the  _Daily Prophet_ had most certainly noticed the cessation of attacks, as nothing had happened in the past three days. Nothing from either Harry or Voldemort.

Now, the  _National Daily Chronicle_ came out with a special edition that morning, full of photos snapped from a pensieve memory. The cloud of eyes that was Hermaeus Mora was carefully edited out, but the black tentacle blasting through the Dark Lord's skull was kept. Harry's fight with the remaining Death Eaters was also prominent.

The newspaper release was followed by an on-air interview Harry gave that evening on the wireless. The interviewer had lots of hard questions for Harry, all of which he answered candidly and truthfully, under the influence of Veritaserum. At the end of the interview, Harry made one final statement.

“ _In January, when the first incident was visited upon the Commonwealth, it truly hurt. To then read the words printed in the National Daily Chronicle, those simple words, 'What have we done to you, Harry?'. I felt part of me die, to know all of you then believed me to be a monster._

_If I could rewind time and undo that terrible grievance, I would happily do so. Yet, that cannot be undone, and all of you now understand, we felt it necessary. Know that, no one was in true danger, her Majesty's forces ensured of that before destruction was unleashed. Injured parties and damage was compensated by my estate, as part of the agreement set forth before the plan was put in motion._

_Now that the plan is concluded, I would equally note that, the devastating series of events unleashed in Trevelyan during Rain's Hand—April, rather—were not part of the deception, and were instead put in motion by a separate entity which the government believes they have put to grass._

_I do not share that belief, but that discussion is for another time. Know that I will never engage in activities that are truly dark, that would work toward evil ends. I always walk in the light, and will always work against evil in this world. My allies would make it so._

_My final comments is this. All of you have helped me to become the man I am. I am proud to call myself a son of Valicadia, though my blood may not be. May the gods watch over us with a ready sword, such as I always will. So mote it be.”_

* * *

_May 13, 2007 / 13 Second Seed, 4E202_

_National War Memorial, Trevelyan_

Considering the Commonwealth was hidden from the mundane world, one could easily fall under the impression that the Commonwealth remained outside of the world's conflicts. That assumption would be a mistake, as the Commonwealth was by no means a bystander in such affairs. Soldiers were involved in every major war, always fighting for the greater good, many of them paying the ultimate price.

The National War Memorial was established in 1946, the year following the conclusion of the second world war, as it was realized some sort of monument was required. Nations all over the world did something similar, and so it was only natural the Commonwealth followed suit. And, following the tradition the United Kingdom established, they marked November 11 as a day of remembrance.

The monument had been erected on the grounds of the parliament buildings, to take advantage of the great clock tower and its musical carillon. It stood nearly thirty feet high, its granite faces being engraved with the dates of conflicts the Commonwealth had fought in, both mundane and magical. The new date had already been added: “Second War against Riddle – 2004 – 2007”.

Back to the present, there had been a brief debate as to where to hold a memorial to pay tribute to the men who lost their lives in the final fight against Voldemort, but in the end it was no contest. The National War Memorial would make the best sense. The flags all flew at half-staff, as they had since Tuesday, and only at sunset would they be returned to full-staff.

So it was, thousands of the public had gathered before the great Cenotaph just before noon hour. The event mirrored the ceremony that normally took place on Remembrance Day, with four soldiers standing vigil at the Cenotaph, with three flag-draped caskets being lined up in front of it. Harry now knew that there would have been a vigil since sunset the previous day. All of them wore different uniforms, marking different eras of conflict. The caskets would have been moved to the site that morning, though they rested in state in the rotunda of the parliament buildings since Wednesday afternoon. Thousands of people had filed past them paying their respects.

After the clock struck the hour, the ceremony began with opening remarks from the Queen.

“We normally meet here in November,” she began. “However, five days ago saw events transpire which demand a momentary change in tradition.

“Humankind has gone to war since the days we discovered the power of rock and bone. Since then, we have fought each other over everything from the soil beneath our feet, to religious conquest, to just pure, unadulterated hatred.(2) 

Millions have been involved in such conflicts, as we continue to find new ways of destroying ourselves. We erect monuments, such as this, with the hopes of preventing history from being repeated. We try to teach our children to not stray to such a path.

And yet, time after time, we once again stand here, burying our sons and daughters who pay the ultimate price in the pursuit of the true greater good. Those who stand up against the monsters of the world, the bullies, the tyrants, those who would plunder the good hearts and introduce anarchy and evil.

Twenty or so years ago, a great evil began to threaten the United Kingdom, and quickly overwhelmed the populace there. By the fall of 1991, England's Wizarding population was on its knees, being held hostage by Tom Riddle and those who followed him. Now, of course, you know the story of what happened. A single event saw the Dark Lord toppled from power, and a peace return to the land.

We knew this peace was only temporary, and our fears were realized, when Tom Riddle returned to the living in 2005, even against our best efforts to prevent it. Since then, Our government has worked with a very special young man to bring about his end, culminating in an eight-month-long operation which concluded five days ago.

“Members of Our Special Operations Unit joined Harry Stormcrown in the final assault against Riddle and his followers early on Tuesday morning. Harry used a powerful magical artefact to do away with Tom Riddle permanently, but it was not without cost. The three brave men resting before us paid the ultimate price to ensure none of Tom's followers would escape.

“For that, we are eternally grateful. Eric Gomrass, Oliver Wentworth, and Brent Stillman will see their names inscribed on the great Cenotaph behind us, a reminder of the costs of such evil. We must remain vigilant against such forces.”

Two stone masons had approached the Cenotaph as she spoke, and only then began weaving spells onto the granite, as the combined band of numerous military units began to play the naval hymn. The spell work was beautiful, as pictures of the three men began to join the others that flickered in and out of view, since, with the spell work, the Cenotaph was almost alive with the faces of those who had given their lives for their country. One could touch a name engraved on the stone, and see their face almost come alive before them. The monument was a true masterpiece.

As the music played, there came a WHUMP, followed by a noisy  _crack_ , as artillery units began to mark the ceremony with a twenty-one gun salute. When it concluded, the Queen again addressed the crowd.

“These three native sons stood at the forefront of the battle with Tom Riddle, and only represent the final victims. Yet, we recognize the thousands of others who died by the madman's hand—the latest to fall in bloody conflict. Let us now acknowledge and remember those who have been lost in bloodshed. Whether it be at the hand of Tom Riddle, or others. Speak the names of those who should be remembered, that they never be forgotten.”

The massed band again began to play, this time choosing, “ _We'll Meet Again_ ”, as people began to speak out from the crowd.

“Manny Fernandez, Brendan and Paddy Conlon,” said Tommy, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Harry turned to him, and was unsurprised to see tear tracks on his friend's face. He was supported between Brandon and Dardanos. Those deaths didn't involve Voldemort, but... it was still a terrible loss through a pair of senseless incidents.

“Madena, Louis, and Isabelle,” said Mazhe. Harry knew they were his mother, father, and younger sister, all murdered when he was nine years old.

“Lily, James, and Sirius,” said Harry. And there, he lost it. The deed was done, and yet, so many had paid for it. So many lives cut short by mad ambition. His circle had lost one of its members, and came very close to losing a second. Hell, he'd practically died himself—and had Voldemort not mistakenly made Harry a Horcrux, he most certainly would have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry and his circle take time to recover from the battle with Voldemort; another visit to San Francisco results in an encounter with Dumbledore, forcing Brandon to reveal secrets to Harry's new friends; and Harry and Mazhe tie the knot in a ceremony attended by many guests;_   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So it is done. The Dark Lord is banished to oblivion, never to return. And I'm not kidding. Both Harry and Mazhe's destinies have been met, and now the pair have their lives ahead of them. Of course, the adventure is far from over, as you will very quickly see._   
> _That said, I have one more chapter of this story, before I wrap things up, and start work on the second, tentatively titled, “The Second Prophecy”. If you read the prologue of this story, it does point to future events, which the second “Chronicle” will cover._   
> _(1) “Zu'u Harry Strundu'ul. Hi lost drehlaan zomaar truk...” - I am Harry Stormcrown. You have done terrible things..._   
> _(2) This ought to sound familiar. Though, I'll toss a bone to those who might not quite get the reference... it's another famous Bethesda title. The quote is not exact, but the gist of it is very close to what is actually spoken._


	39. Journey to a Joined Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry and his circle take time to recover from the battle with Voldemort; another visit to San Francisco results in an encounter with Dumbledore, forcing Brandon to reveal secrets to Harry's new friends; and Harry and Mazhe tie the knot in a ceremony attended by many guests;_

**39: JOURNEY TO A JOINED PATH**

**May 14 – August 20, 2007**

* * *

Within the Commonwealth's borders, the public was quick to forgive their adoptive son after the details of the operation were revealed. In fact, there were a few calling for a national holiday to be named in his honour. Harry was quick to put the breaks on such an idea—doing so would be following the same mistakes that had been made years earlier in England. Sure, he had been the one to walk the last few steps, but the government had helped him to get there.

Reactions from other ICW member nations, however, were mixed. In England, particularly, the Ministry was quick to denounce the reports. “VENOMOUS LIES”, the  _Daily Prophet_ screeched, publishing a scathing article calling Harry 'the next dark lord who had simply removed his only competition'. Equally, they denounced the Commonwealth, stating, 'This rogue nation which exists outside of sensible regulation by the international body, is now a danger to us all, shielding a monster from due justice'.

Harry was unfazed by the ramblings spewing from the country of his birth. They had an incompetent government, and an incompetent Minister. What else should anyone expect, but... incompetence? The Prophet? It would print whatever it wanted, whether the content was true or not. No, it wasn't worth getting in a huff about.

With the banishment of Tom Riddle and the complete decimation of his supporters, Harry felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Now, all he had to be concerned about was level six magical exams, and grade ten final exams, which were both approaching. Considering all that he'd been through over the past year, such affairs were a flash in the pan.

As he continued with reviews of course material (with Justin and Remus being sure to cover any material he was lacking in), he also continued his visits with Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar. There, he not only continued to learn the dragon language, but also worked on focusing his mind further, and making the first steps toward learning a Shout. During the last part of the visit, he also continued to work on the song he was composing for Mazhe.

Working on the song had become a little easier, since Mazhe had become rather busy with the guild as of late, meaning Harry didn't have to be quite as secretive about what he was doing. It also meant Harry was able to visit the glee club for their input.

The last week of Second Seed (May), Harry did so for a third time, once again accompanied by Justin and Brandon. Though Voldemort had been dealt with, the government still insisted Harry have some sort of protection with him, since there were still people out for his blood—perhaps a  _lot_ of people out for his blood now. It somewhat annoyed him, but Harry accepted it for what it was. Two good friends who had his back—after all, not too many people out there could say they had a trained assassin watching their back.

As the meeting got under way, Harry couldn't help but note how large Quinn had gotten. Her due date had to be really close. He made a mental note to send her some sort of gift to mark the occasion... maybe Tommy might have a suggestion or two...

“Harry...” Justin poked him in the ribs.

“Sorry?”

“Like dude... you were just staring into space,” said Puck.

“Apologies. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“I asked if you're rich or something,” said Jesse.

“I... well...”

“Just say yes, Harry,” said Justin, “Harry, uh, comes from a very old family that had lots of money.”

“Justin...”

“I'm only telling the truth,” Justin pressed, “I know you keep going on about wanting to be normal, but both you and I know that's never gonna happen.”

“I would give it all to be just that.” 

Harry turned back to the group.

“Coin will never buy happiness. All of you face problems in your lives that here and now might seem insurmountable. Know that they will pale compared to what you will face when you leave these walls for the final time. Cherish your days here, for they will pass, and life as an adult will have you lament for the days of your youth.”

Mr. Schuester was about to open his mouth to protest Harry's comments, but relented, realizing it was the naked truth.

Harry continued, “All of you have something I will never have... a normal life. A real mother or father... or both. Your worst fears likely centre around whether or not you'll pass your chemistry exam... or whether the girl—or boy you're chasing will fancy you or not... all trivial things, compared to the things I have faced.”

Harry paused a moment, picking up on some of Jesse's thoughts.

“All of you care about one another, no? What would you do if—one of you died?”

All of the club members looked around, at each other, then back at Harry, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion.

“In the past year, I have seen the passing of three people I considered family. Not by blood, but they might as well have been. They, on top of others that were friends and protectors.”

“But... why are you telling _us_ this?” Finn protested.

“Finn, really,” Rachel huffed, understanding at once.

“So you were in a war or something,” Puck guessed.

Harry gave a sad nod. “I might as well have been. There are many things I can't get into...”

“Classified information,” said Brandon, with a frown. “Really, Harry, you're already pushing the limits on what you can say here.”

“Right. We waste time as it is on matters that have now passed. Just know that, no matter how difficult your lives may seem to be, I would gladly exchange places with one of you... gladly give away every last sep--uh, dollar I have to my name, to make it so.”

As they got ready to leave, Brandon pulled Jesse aside for a word. Harry furrowed his eyebrows at the activity, but slipped his notes into his satchel. Though... Brandon had frowned a couple of times during the meeting. Oh well. If it was important, Harry would soon know about it.

When the three of them arrived back at the College, Harry was quick to ask about the discussion.

“You really want to know?” Brandon asked, again frowning, “Gods, I forgot most of the B.S. that went on in high school... seeing all this, brings it all back again.”

Justin only smiled and nodded, knowing all too well. “Drama,” he said, simply.

“That's about the size of it,” Brandon picked up, “Mr. St. James was planted in the group by a rival school. I simply gave him a kind piece of advice.”

“More like a gun to his forehead,” Justin smirked.

“Well, not quite. But I did warn him that should he carry through with any plot that might disrupt the group while we're, uh, attached... I would visit him in the small hours of the night and make him wish he were never born. And I did apply a small compulsion charm that should keep him in line.”

Harry let out a sigh. “Gods... you terrorized a teenager for... drama.”

“Protecting your interests, Harry. Last thing you need is for your new friends to be distracted by... drama. He planned on ending his relationship with Rachel, publicly denouncing the club, and returning to his old school.”

“Uh... right. I still disagree with causing interference. If that was his path, then we have no business to interfere.”

“It's done now,” said Justin, “Let's just move on.”

* * *

When Harry, Justin, and Brandon met with the club a week later, they found a subdued atmosphere. The club had attended the Regional competition, but even with an energetic performance, they had still placed last. As he found out, the club had nearly been cancelled as a result, but they had been given a reprieve. Perhaps some investigation was needed into exactly why. Quinn had also delivered her baby, and so was not present (still at home, getting some rest), so he would have to pass on congratulations another time.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, it was exam time for Harry and his school friends. Both Ginny and Luna were escorted to Hogwarts every day so they could sit their O.W.L. exams, while everyone else still in school sat exams in the apartment's Virtual Projection Room, which had been configured into a classroom. Since everyone was in sixth year (or level six magic, in Harry's case), no exam proctors were needed, and Remus and Justin were more than acceptable as examiners.

* * *

_June 22, 2007 / 22 Mid-Year, 4E202_

With Mazhe once again occupied with a guild assignment for at least part of the weekend, Harry took the opportunity to once again work secretly with the glee club. This time, rather than meeting in Lima, Harry invited the club's membership to join him in San Francisco, and use the theatre, which currently sat shuttered, with no events scheduled until the middle of next month. The government once again took care of the logistics, and as far as the group's parents were concerned, Valicor was taking care of transportation and lodging. Additionally, it was also stressed that there were appropriate chaperones present, although this was not considered a school function.

The government had provided a private jet to fly the group out to the west coast, with a pair of SOU agents posing as greeters and escorts. Harry, Justin, and Brandon met the group at the airport, where a chartered motor-coach carried them the rest of the way to the theatre. The bus was a custom fit, with seating arranged more like a limousine, so people could face one another more comfortably.

Once they were settled in the guest suites (which had been adjusted for the group's number), the group spent the rest of the day in the auditorium, split between working on Harry's special composition, or otherwise jamming together and singing. An organist had been provided, but he eventually departed around dinner time—not that it mattered much. There were a variety of other instruments set up, and the organ did have a piano setting. Kurt was more than adept at the piano, and with a little bit of a tutorial, was able to get by.

With the number of musicians in the group, it was only natural that Harry was coaxed into trying to sing.

“Just go with it, man,” said Finn.

“Yeah, like, we're not gonna laugh at you,” Tina threw in.

“Right, all right, I surrender,” Harry laughed, throwing up his hands.

Justin was quick to join in with them, as they covered a Beatles number, and Brandon simply stood off to the side, speaking with a few other agents that were providing security. Brandon couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, and so knew not to even attempt.

Perhaps it was best if he didn't. Though he had more than grown attached to the young wizard, no matter what, he was there at direction of the Queen. At any time, his orders could change, and he would leave the circle he'd become part of. Perhaps only temporarily, or perhaps not. Brandon was an agent of the Commonwealth's crown, first and foremost. A strong friendship with the most famous wizard in the magical world had come of the current assignment, but as it stood, there was no such thing as a permanent post.

Dinner ended up being rather late, with Justin putting in an order for pizza and wings. At first, Harry was confused as to why there had been such a big order—large enough to feed a platoon, let alone fifteen of them. That was quickly answered, when Remus arrived, bringing the other kids who had been moved to Skyrim for their protection. Will and Alice arrived shortly after (all through the front doors rather than the fireplace), along with Hermione's parents. Then, moments following, Mazhe arrived, and wasted no time greeting his mate in the traditional manner. Harry could feel his face flush as they separated.

“Have you guys thought any more about a date?” Kurt asked.

“We wish for late summer,” answered Harry, “Perhaps the third or last week of ... err... August. Thus far, a venue has not been considered.”

“We're still getting ideas,” said Mazhe, “Between us, we have many friends.”

“Good grief, Harry. I still can't believe you're getting bonded,” said Hermione, shaking her head.

Harry could only smile. “Recalling first time Mazhe and I met, I somehow knew we would walk to the afterlife together. This only furthers that belief.”

“Right, you lot, let's go eat,” said Brandon, who between him and two other agents, carried a stack of boxes.

“There should be a set of tables already prepped for us backstage,” said Justin, “We could commandeer one of the lounges, but...”

“Right. Come on then.”

With dinner out of the way, the group was treated to a movie.  _Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest_ was the film of choice, being the previous year's best grossing film world wide. Though it wasn't really a 'make-out' movie, it didn't stop Harry and Mazhe. Everyone had spread out, given they were a relatively small group compared to the size of the auditorium. Naturally, they weren't the only ones. 

Harry was surprised to notice that Neville and Luna had become an item. It appeared the shy boy he'd met so long ago had become a confident young wizard. Good on him!

Hermione and Ron, meanwhile, weren't much of a surprise at all. Much like between Harry and Mazhe, the pair seemed to glow when they were together. How long before there came an engagement announcement? Mrs. Weasley was going to go over the moon with that!

It was late in the morning before everyone finally finished breakfast. Clearly, not many people had gotten a lot of sleep, and so coffee was spared no expense—nor were pepper-up potions, though they were consumed discreetly. Breakfast consisted of the usual fare that would have been provided back in the apartment, though in this case it was provided by human hands and non-magical means.

With breakfast—or perhaps brunch being a better word—was finished, the rather large group once again boarded the motor coach, destined for one of the large shopping malls. The two groups were separated, and a silencing charm was hastily erected so Will and Alice could speak to Harry's school friends—if perhaps to lay down some ground rules.

“So where we headed first?” Justin asked. He remained with Harry and the rest of the glee club.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, have you ever had a facial?” Kurt smirked.

“A what?”

“That settles it.”

For some reason, Harry felt like he'd just been put on someone's dinner menu.

“What exactly is a facial?” Mazhe asked.

Kurt arched an eyebrow. “Neither of you know what a facial is?”

“Seriously?” Santana quipped.

Puck arched an eyebrow. “Like, dudes. What planet are you from anyway?”

“Don't answer that,” said Harry, seeing Mazhe about to do exactly that. “We don't have... well... the concept is lost on me.”

Kurt looked momentarily scandalized.

“There is still hope for the pair of you, though it may take some work,” he finally said, dramatically.

“A facial is really nice, you'll like it,” said Rachel.

“Well, uh, thanks... I think,” said Mazhe, shifting uncomfortably from the gaze he was getting from Kurt. He then smirked. “Well, it could be worse. Emily and Rosie could be doing it.”

“Gods, no,” Harry muttered.

“And who are they?” asked Kurt.

“Tommy's nieces—I fail to recall if you remember him or not. His nieces are adorable. One is five, the other is six or something? I forget,” Harry answered, “He suffered serious injury sometime ago and is presently unable to travel with us.”

“Well... Dardanos certainly looked amusing, once they'd finished with him,” Mazhe smirked.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon before they were back on the bus, returning to the theatre. Harry's magical friends had actually fared well, all in all, it not being their first trip into the non-magical world. Fred and George seemed to be buzzing with excitement, it being their first trip into a mundane mall. Their trip into a party/prop/joke/gag store had been an adventure, and Harry could already imagine the crazy inventions they would come up with from the experience.

Harry and Mazhe's experience in the beauty parlour, on the other hand, was something both young mages would sooner forget. They endured, if only to humour their new friend. After all, both of them had been through far worse than having a mask made from something with the consistency of mud being plastered on their faces. At least whatever it was  _smelled_ half-nice.

A few blocks from the theatre, Brandon glanced at his mobile, and frowned.

“Driver. Take us up to Hayes St., and drop us off at the rear lobby entrance.”

“Sure thing.”

“What's going on?” Harry asked. He had sat close to the front along with Justin, Mazhe, and Brandon.

“Undesired company," Brandon answered, "Dumbledore was sighted across the street.”

Harry let out a sigh. “Should've expected him to eventually track me down. Whiskered wanker...”

That earned a scandalous look from some of the female guests.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded.

“What? Only the truth spills from my tongue. Meddling old goat-fucker...”

That earned even more shocked glances from his female guests. Puck, meanwhile, was nearly doubled over, he was laughing so hard. Finn was in no better shape, nor were a few of the others.

“Seriously,” Harry charged onward, “A rumour has circulated on several occasions suggesting he has had relations with... do I really need speak further? He deflects accusation to the feet of his younger sibling, but...”

“Really?” said George, “I mean, we all suspected the man was bent... Merlin...”

“So what'd the guy do to you?” questioned Santana, “Did he—”

“Thank the gods, no. I would have buried my blade so deep in his arse that his unborn grandchildren would feel it,” Harry muttered, venomously.

“So what'd he do then?”

“That answer is complicated, and I don't wish to delve into it, for a number of reasons. Let me only answer that he has caused me much pain and anguish, and that I will one day see him answer for each and every grievance.”

“Unfortunately, the man's got a lot of power politically... knows a lot of people with the right connections, that kind of thing. For now he's out of reach, but eventually he'll step in something he can't cover up. He'll make a mistake, they always do,” said Justin.

“When we pull up to the building, everyone go inside and up to the private suites immediately. Security has already cleared the building.”

“What for? This part of your, uh, not being normal thing?” Artie asked.

“It is. Though the company has provided you means to join me here, all of you are my guests, and my responsibility,” Harry answered, scowling. “Last thing I would wish for, is for any of you to suffer injury that could have been prevented.”

“You make it sound like you're a secret agent or somethin',” said Finn.

“I can't tell you. Just... trust me.”

“We're following protocol,” says Brandon. “Just trust us, we'll keep you safe.”

The vehicle pulled up to the north lobby entrance, and after Brandon and other SOU agents deemed it safe, they hurried inside—though a little more time was needed to get Artie settled in his wheelchair. Assuming everyone had taken the elevator up to the suites, Harry then crossed the lobby and stepped out into the foyer. It was decorated much like the lobby, acting as a grand partition between the street and the interior. Glancing out the doors, Harry could make out a figure standing across the street, watching thoughtfully. He'd done quite well to blend in, but his beard and half-moon glasses were still unmistakable.

“Though we would suggest you not make contact with him, it's your show, Mr. Stormcrown,” said one of two agents providing security.

“What precautions stand at the ready?”

“At least fifteen agents are in position, with others at the ready to join if necessary. We called for backup soon as we spotted him. Whatever you do, don't try to take him down. DOI considers it an unacceptable risk at this point.”

“I would agree. Such an operation requires more time that we have not been given. I would yet have words with the old man, if only to determine future intent, and deliver clear warning of my own. I would have you both join me on the street.”

The three of them stepped out onto the sidewalk, and waited, while Dumbledore crossed the street to join them. It took several moments, until the traffic at last cleared.

“Harry, my boy,” he spoke, in a grandfatherly tone.

“I am not your boy, Dumbledore,” Harry answered, frostily.

“Have you truly ended Tom's life?”

“No, he yet lives,” Harry answered, “Though I believe that by this point, he wishes for the sweet release of death, considering the place I have sent him. Most unfortunate for him, death does not know the realm he finds himself in.”

“Then you have not filled your destiny, Harry. The prophecy—“

“Is ended, Dumbledore. Voldemort—Tom Riddle, has been vanquished. His Horcruxes have no meaning, no use, since he has to die before he could ever use them. And as far as the one that lived in my scar, it has been expelled, by Tom himself.”

“In what way?”

“Tom cast the killing curse on me. I broke words with my parents in the void. They explained how and why. And yes, they are very proud of who I have become. They wish me a long, happy life, and all but threatened to hex me quite painfully, should I show up in the afterlife anytime before my two-hundredth birthday.”

Harry thought for a moment, then smiled brightly.

“Oh. And of course, my mother also warned me about you. I know all about what sort of mischief you've been up to. Really. Associating with a terrorist organization, a member of which is a fugitive from 73BCE... the Commonwealth is already passing on some of this information to our contacts in the international community. If your political clout was weakened already, find it weakened further—and I wouldn't advise you to try anything here and now.”

“We have a lot of agents watching this little meeting, Mr. Dumbledore,” said one of the agents, with a vicious smirk, “Doing anything other than using a port key or Disapparating will result in many painful curses. And trust me, we would _love_ for you to try something.”

“Now that you know where you stand at this moment, let me make this very clear,” said Harry dangerously, “My circle and I have crushed many foes, one of which threatened Skyrim, the latest being Tom and his merry band of misfits. We know exactly what sort of individual you truly are. When next we meet, you will face justice by our hands.”

“Is that so? You believe you and that circle of friends you have could ever stand up to the years of experience I have alone?”

“There is power in numbers. Numbers who unite under just cause... purpose that has fallen from your sight sometime ago. I believe you may have been a good man at one time, but you have lost your way, and now become the danger Tom _was._ The words buried in my chest since last we broke words have now fallen from my tongue, laid bare for your ears, and I take my leave. I would bid you farewell, but those words would be false. So, I would ask you to fall from sight, Dumbledore. I seek more deserving company.”

Dumbledore let out an exaggerated sigh, and simply vanished with a soft pop.

Harry smirked then turned around to go back inside, then frowned. Rather than following instructions and returning to the suites, Puck had instead sneaked back down to the lobby. Justin had just arrived by the look of it, and was already having words with the boy.

A quick glance at his memories revealed he'd seen just about all of the brief conversation. Wonderful, Harry thought to himself, someone else that would now need a memory charm.

“Tell me, Mr. Puckerman, why would you defy instructions made to see to your safety?” Harry hissed, “The individual I broke words with is considered a terrorist. He could have killed you on the spot without blinking.”

“I was curious, okay?”

“No. It is not... 'okay', as you so lightly put it. Far worse, you now have forbidden knowledge, knowledge that now puts all of you, and all of my circle in great danger,” Harry pressed, flicking his wrist, and producing his wand.

“You believe yourself to be a... bad-ass, is it?”

“...”

“Harry...” Justin said, frowning.

“Compared with the things I have seen, and fought, where I come from... you would last a mere second before being eaten alive. Now. Tell me, how much of your memory should I strip clear? A few minutes? An hour? All of your memories of us? And believe me, it is most possible for me to do so.”

Puck could see the end of Harry's wand light up with red energy. He turned deathly white.

“I... I didn't mean... I'm sorry,” he stammered.

“Harry. Really,” Justin pressed.

The light dimmed, then it brightened again, turning a purple shade. He snapped his wand out at the wall, and a bolt of light zapped against the wall, leaving a brief scorch mark.

“Just so you clearly see there is no trickery. Yet, you force my hand to reveal secrets you have no right to know. All because you fail to heed simple instructions. If you fail in such a simple task, how do you plan to pass through the far more demanding challenging of life as an adult?”

“Harry.” Justin frowned again. “I somewhat agree with what he says, but—“

Harry ran a hand through his hair, then stowed his wand away. “To put dressing over a deadly trap does not render it harmless.”

“But there are other ways to deal with this. In a nutshell, Mr. Puckerman, we'll have to put you under a secrecy charm,” said Justin, “You can't tell anyone what you've just seen. It's for our protection as much as yours.”

“It's either that or we will erase the memory of what you have just witnessed,” said one of the SOU agents, “But doing so is far more risky since you've been around Harry and his group on a number of occasions.”

“So magic... it's all real then.”

“Both the good, and the bad, yes,” Justin answered, “Dumbledore is slowly replacing a dark wizard we dispatched recently.”

“Like a super-villain.”

“Exactly like,” said Justin.

“Except that, unlike in a comic book, this super-villain is very much real, with real, deadly powers,” said the SOU agent. “We'd best wrap this up.”

“Hows this memory charm work?” Puck asked.

Harry again let out an annoyed sigh. “I have done this more than I would care to. But... you will feel nothing as it is applied.”

“It simply prevents you from discussing what you now know with others who don't know the same information already. So, you can't talk about magic with your friend Finn, because he doesn't already know,” Justin explained.

Five minutes later, Harry, Justin, and Puck returned to the private suites, leaving the two SOU agents to watch the lobby. Harry was surprised to find the rest of the circle present—Tommy was on a pair of crutches, as he still waited for a prosthetic.

“Heard there was a problem,” he said, simply.

“Dumbledore decided to invite himself to our little party. Most unfortunate for him, my protection detail made discovery before we were caught unawares. We had words, and he departed without hostilities being exchanged.”

“Gods. Truly a magnet for trouble, Harry,” said Mazhe, shaking his head.

“So will we be expecting him again?” asked Kurt.

“No. He knows now we are well protected at this location. Though his mind is idled if he believed otherwise for any point in time.”

“Yeah, uh, _duh_... historic landmark and all that,” Kurt snorted.

“Precisely. The theatre's watched around the clock, whether an event is scheduled or not,” says Brandon.

“It's quite simple, actually,” Luna quipped, “His head is full of wrackspurts.”

That earned blank stares from the glee club, and Harry once again felt the urge to bang his head against a wall somewhere.

Hermione covered the slip-up. “She means, he's gone mental.”

“The dude looked ancient,” Puck said, “Like he should've died a couple of decades ago.”

“Noah, that's not very nice,” Rachel scolded, but it earned a smirk out of Harry.

“Uh, yeah. Puck sums him up quite nicely. An individual who has outlived his use. Perhaps he's gone off his nut in his twilight years.”

Brandon, meanwhile, muttered something unintelligible, and produced his wand. The kids from Lima (other than Puck) looked at it strangely, that is, until a nearby chair suddenly began to dance around of its own volition. The legs were even bending as if they were limbs rather than straight legs.

“Since one of you seems to know about this matter already, and Harry has invited you lot to his bonding ceremony upcoming this summer, it's best we simply enlighten all of you at once, and save the trouble.”

Harry arched an eyebrow.

“Magic,” Mercedes said, simply, “That's your big secret then?”

“Part of it, yes,” said Harry, “As to me being a secret agent... close.”

Brandon gestured again with his wand, this time turning the dancing chair into a chicken. It began strutting around, making clucking sounds.

“Oh come on, Brandon,” Justin smirked, producing his own wand. A gesture turned the chair into a dozen quacking ducks. That reduced both Harry and Mazhe into fits of laughter.

“I don't get what's so funny,” said Brandon.

“You don't remember the... duck incident?”

“Thousands of conjured, singing ducks, during an alteration lesson a few years ago,” answered Harry, between giggles.

“No way.” It was clear Finn was vividly imagining what such an incident might look like.

“And no, we can't do that during your history class,” Harry smirked.

“Getting off track here,” said Brandon, as he made a gesture with his wand, “ _Finite_.” 

With a flash, the ducks all vanished, to be replaced by the piece of furniture they'd been created from.

“Normally by our laws, none of you are permitted to know about us. However, there are times when exceptions have to be made, this being one of those times. Since all of you have been hanging around with Harry and his circle, it's opening up the chance of secrets getting out.

“We'll place all of you under a secrecy charm, so you can't reveal our world and so on. It only takes a few moments, and it'll prevent further accidents.”

“What about our parents?” Quinn asked, “I mean, not that I would want them to know, but...”

“No. You can't tell anyone,” said Justin, “There are a lot of people in your world who would try to hurt us, wipe us out even, if they knew.”

“Yeah, my parents,” said Quinn, “They'd see you all as the devil's spawn.”

“So, uh, what happens now?” asked Artie.

“Well, other than us applying the secrecy charm, nothing changes. You just won't be able to tell anyone about what you now know,” Justin answered.

“You simply just hold still, as we apply the charm. It takes only a few seconds,” Harry added, “Do remember, an exception is being made, partly due to an error on my part.”

“What do you mean, Harry?” Ron asked.

“I invited these guys to the wedding without breaking words with the government. Given the amount of political influence I carry, such things are quickly forgiven. Know that such exceptions are—“

“Harry, we know. But you also know that... well... it's... it's you, and what you did for all of us,” said Justin.

Harry groaned in frustration. “It is exactly that which I find troubling. The thing I did, it was my responsibility, resting on my shoulders, placed there by prophecy. Yet, so many place me upon pedestal, celebrating my name, failing to see the man behind it, and equally, failing to recognize so many others who also took up arms under united cause.

“I may have been the one to bring about Tom Riddle's end, yet there were so many others working behind me—and beside me. It is wrong that they be forgotten, while I continue to be celebrated.”

“You don't want to be famous?” Rachel asked, looking shocked.

“Most of you are aiming to become famous in some way, is that a fair assessment?” Harry asked. He got nods from most of the group.

“All of you wish for it, perhaps some of you long to stand in the spotlight. I honour your courage, as the spotlight can be a cold place. Myself, I have never wished to be famous.

“My fame comes from an act my mother and father did all in the name of protecting me from the man I would one day face. It was through their sacrifice of love and blood that I survived when Tom Riddle came calling. All of it was set in motion by prophecy—whether true or not. It mattered not, as Tom believed it, and took action.”

Harry brushed the thick lock of hair out of his face to reveal the now faint scar on his forehead.

“This is the mark left behind, a little memento, a reminder of the dark wizard's monstrous act. This mark made me famous, the people of Wizarding England naming me, 'the boy-who-lived'. To set foot in my homeland, I am celebrated one moment, then spit on the next. So no, fame and success never guarantees happiness. At least, not for myself.”

Harry blew out a breath.

“Right. Enough dark thoughts, let us complete a bit of business, so that we might continue with more pleasant activity.”

* * *

Over the next month, Harry was in much more frequent contact with the glee club, considering school was then over. For Harry, it was also easier, since his schedule had also relaxed, for a similar reason. Sure, he still maintained morning physical training, but classes were finished for the summer. Tolfdir had sent him a message asking if Harry would consider teaching a class or two at the college, but for now, Harry declined, wishing to take the summer and unwind.

Of course, plans were well under way for the wedding by this point, although the pair could still not quite decide exactly where to hold it. Any place cold was nixed on the spot, so it limited locations to the southern parts of the province. Hogwarts had been considered, then dropped, given Harry's frosty relationship with his homeland at this point.

Professor McGonagall had been disappointed when Harry had sent the polite refusal. However, she was also delighted to receive an unofficial invitation, which had extended to the rest of the faculty. After all, all of the problems Harry had experienced while attending the school, were easily laid at the former headmaster's feet.

Though his schedule had relaxed, Harry still continued with several classes. He still attended his blacksmithing lessons with Balimund and Asbjorn Fire-Tamer; the boy was pretty much a man at this point. Then there were the ongoing lessons with Paarthurnax and the other dragons at the summit of the Throat of the World—they were another reason Harry was practically insisting that the wedding be held in Skyrim. There was no way he would have his dragon friends miss out on the union.

The special composition Harry was working on had really taken shape, and so Justin had put him in contact with the Trevelyan Symphony Orchestra. Though Kurt and the glee club had done tremendous work hammering out a melody that fit, it was moving to a point where professional input was required. Given Harry's influence in name alone, the orchestra was more than willing to help out.

* * *

Harry's birthday turned out to be a blast, when Finn suggested they join up and spend the day at  _Cedar Point_ , an amusement park on the south shore of Lake Erie. The roller coasters were truly epic, the effects and sensations being very close to riding on the back of a broom. He'd made a mental note to give his new friends a ride sometime in the near future.

From there, the two groups were in almost daily contact, as the polish was being put on the song. Brandon had become more than clever, drawing in the assistance of Miraak in keeping Mazhe continuously occupied. Sure, there had been some close calls, but all in all, the secret remained intact.

On a number of occasions, the two groups would meet, only to immediately be whisked away to Trevelyan, where they would meet with the orchestra and its singers. To hear everything come together as an epic production gave Harry shivers. Mazhe was going to love it!

As the date grew closer, meanwhile, they finally nailed down the location for the event. Actually, it had been Vex who had thrown out the suggestion one evening while they were gathered in the Ragged Flagon.

“Why not hold it at Goldenglow?”

Of course, Harry had given that location a bit of thought, but now, it practically made sense! It was under guild control, and it wouldn't be the first time a large social gathering had been held there—one only had to think back to the past winter's extremely popular ice-skating party.

With that last detail hammered into place, dozens of invitations were sent out. As much as Harry wished to have a small ceremony, Mazhe would have none of it, and the guest list was extensive. Some of the guests gave cause for concern, but Brandon had assured the both of them things would be kept under control, one way or another. The government would be providing more than ample security, considering Queen Susan was on the guest list.

“Any nonsense, and the one responsible will find themselves thrown into Lake Honrich absent their clothes,” Brandon promised.

“If I don't hex them painfully first,” Harry muttered, “Causing any sort of grief during my bonding ceremony will meet with dire consequences, no matter _who_ they might be.”

* * *

_August 14, 2007 / 14 Last Seed, 4E202_

“Well done, Harry. Let's try again,” said Falion. They were once again working in the summoning circle a few minutes outside of Morthal. The storm attronach Harry had summoned hovered close by, while the second summon had vanished after only a few moments.

“But... I still find difficulty holding a second summon.”

“This is challenging material, Harry. To maintain more than one, if only for a short time, is an impressive feat in its own right.”

_Pop_ . Brandon appeared just outside the circle. It was not uncommon for Harry to attend training with Falion on his own in the past while, with the threat to his safety being much less in Skyrim.

“Harry. A word.”

“Something's happened,” Harry guessed. A gesture from his hand dispelled the storm attronach.

“Somewhat. Mr. Puckerman got himself into a bit of trouble this morning.”

“In what way?”

“I'll let you see for yourself. This is footage from a security camera inside of a convenience store just outside of Lima,” Brandon explained, having already produced his mobile. A tap of the screen had the video play.

The action started only seconds into the clip, as the entire room seemed to jolt, with debris and merchandise flying past the camera, set in motion by what Harry guessed to be a vehicle—a car, more specifically. There was no sound, but Harry could just make out the driver of the vehicle as he got out, and the hairstyle was unmistakable.

“Gods... what was he thinking?”

“It gets worse.” Brandon tapped the screen, and the clip changed to a different angle, which demonstrated what Puck was actually up to.

“Oh Gods... he's not... bloody hell, he did,” Harry muttered, shaking his head, as the boy manhandled the store's automatic teller into the trunk of the car.

“Did he not realize such machines carry many security devices? Where has he been taken?”

“As it stands, he's in police custody. However, given the connection he's got with your group, DOI has a suggestion on what we might do. If you'll hear me out.”

“What does the government have in mind?”

“He be attached to our group and train with us. Remember the 'boot camp' Tommy put you guys through nearly three years ago?”

“Hmm... yes, I see the line of thinking. Perhaps a bit of exposure to discipline might curb a penchant for mischief,” Harry agreed.

“As if it cured you.”

Harry grinned. “Fuck off.”

He turned back to Falion. “Apologies. I must cut training short, as there appears to be a matter requiring my attention.”

“Don't fret. I understand. Though I give you an assignment until we next meet. To simply keep practicing your double summoning. It's all about practice, Harry.”

“Thank you. If you like, we can return you to Morthal by port key,” Harry offered.

Falion declined the offer, answering, “I can make my own way back.”

“Very well.” Harry had already produced his mobile. 

With Brandon gripping him about the arm, they vanished with a blur of limbs.

It was a half hour before the fire in the fireplace roared a brilliant green, expelling Mr. Sampson and Miss Connor. They immediately stepped aside, as the flames again flared up, this time expelling Puck and another SOU agent. Mr. Sampson spelled the soot off of everyone's clothes.

Harry, meanwhile, indicated they all follow, and led them into what had become the business office.

“Sit down.”

“What...” Puck frowned, but took a seat in front of the desk. It was as if some unseen force had planted the message in his head!

“So tell me, what possessed you to commit such a foolish act?” Harry asked, quietly.

Puck shrugged. “Needed the money.”

“He... _needed the money_...” Harry parroted back. It was obviously the wrong answer, as Harry slammed his palms onto the desk, making everyone jump.

“You foolish boy—“

“Hey! I don't have to—“ Puck snarled, moving to stand.

“Sit _DOWN_ , Mr. Puckerman,” Brandon commanded.

“Do you consider every tale that has spilled from my tongue to be false?”

“N...no.”

“Then why is it that you would put all of us at risk with such a foolish act?”

“Why does it matter to you?” Puck snapped.

“You still don't get it, do you?” Brandon questioned.

“No, I don't!”

“Harry. Care to paint us a picture?”

“It is a matter of exposure and attention,” said Harry. “By your actions, you draw undue attention to yourself, and by extension, your friends. That could attract unwanted attention that could result in terrible consequences for my circle and I. Is this now clear?”

Puck remained silent for a moment, mulling over Harry's words. He was by no means a stupid young man. Perhaps a little rough around the edges, but stupid? Definitely not.

“I... I guess I understand.”

“You acted without thought.” Harry sighed, and blew out a breath. “Gods. This I can understand, as I can easily place my feet in your shoes.”

“Harry? Everything all right?” Harry looked up to see Mazhe standing in the doorway.

“A simple matter that is being dealt with presently. Join us.”

Mazhe stepped into the room, then frowned, seeing the two Commonwealth attorneys present.

“Mr. Sampson, Miss Connor... good to see you again. Did... did something happen?” Now he was a little worried.

“I did something dumb,” said Puck.

“Oh.” Mazhe softened somewhat.

“Moving on, then,” said Harry. “He's been placed under Commonwealth authority then?”

“As far as the state of Ohio is concerned, he's been moved to Juvenile Detention as would have been the traditional course of action for a crime of this magnitude,” answered Miss Connor. “Unofficially, he's placed under the supervision of Lieutenant Commander McAllister for the next three months.”

“Unless, Mr. Puckerman, you would prefer to be transferred to our youth correctional facility,” said Mr. Sampson, “You do have a choice. Though trust me, working with her Majesty's Special Operations Unit would be more beneficial to you than spending time amongst other youth in a secure facility.”

Puck seemed to think a moment, then asked, “If I stay here... what would I be doing?”

“You would receive training with Lieutenant Commander McAllister, myself, and a few others. When the school year begins in Hearthfire—forgive me, September, you will continue your education. What level of schooling will you be receiving?” Harry asked.

“Eleven. Grade eleven.”

“Then you would attend classes with me and a few others. Is there anything else, or shall we have your decision?”

“I'll stick with option one.”

“Good choice. Though realize, you will find it every bit as difficult as the second option, though for different reasons,” said Harry.

“If that's it, we'll return to Trevelyan,” said Mr. Sampson.

“In the meantime,” said Brandon, “We'll take you back to Lima so you can collect a few things that you might need while here.”(1)

* * *

By the end of the second day of training, Puck was seriously questioning his choice. Though Harry and Mazhe were present for at least two hours, they soon parted with the group. Of course, Tommy also joined them, but given his injury, he wasn't able to participate fully, and kept to upper body exercises. The two others that joined them, they themselves were brutal, perhaps downright scary with their skill. Puck was a fish in a tank full of piranha. And up to now, he'd thought himself to be a real bad-ass...

Training eased up the two days leading up to the bonding ceremony. Already, the site was being set up at Goldenglow Estate, on the west island, with the throng of bee hives being moved to the smaller island temporarily. In their place, a large canopy had been erected, along with a set of risers that would accommodate the orchestra and its singers. Additionally, two large pedestals had been provided, as places for Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar to rest during the ceremony.

The night before, Mazhe and Harry stood alone under the canopy, as the sun at last blinked out of sight behind the mountains to the southwest.

“Nervous?”

Harry could only smile. “No, not at all. This night is the last night that people will address me as 'Harry Potter'. Tomorrow, and forever after, I take a new name, and stand at your side until we walk into the afterlife. So no, I'm not nervous. If I could cause the time to pass more quickly, and speed up the hours, that the sun would rise sooner, I would see it done.”

“And so would I, easily. Though you've been using my name already—“

“It is still not official.”

“It doesn't matter now though. Any thoughts on what you'd like to do? Brandon keeps going on about a honeymoon and so on.”

“It does not matter, so long as you are by my side. Though... there are a few places that do come to mind. Justin has shown me pictures of Victoria Falls, a spectacular waterfall located in central Africa. I would see such a place with my own eyes.”

“It sounds amazing. Though if you like waterfalls, I have heard tell of a place in the reach. Perhaps not as high or magnificent as the waterfall you have in mind, but a unique place in its own right.”

“We would likely face the Forsworn there,” said Harry, “I would rather not encroach on their territory.”

“Fair enough. Come. The guild is likely already raising glasses to our names, it's only fair we at least show briefly.”

* * *

_Early morning, August 20, 2007 / 20 Last Seed, 4E202_

_Lima, OH_

A group of individuals watched, disillusioned in the shadows, as members of 'New Directions' were picked up by a chartered bus. The small group of spies included Dumbledore, and three others. Had they been visible, all except for Dumbledore wore dark cloaks with hoods which obscured their faces.

“I still fail to see the merit of turning resources to such an insignificant target,” spoke one of them.

“You still think inside the box, traveller,” spoke another, “Your operation against Potter in Capua was rendered a failure.”

“Yes, though we had not expected the arrival of forces from the Commonwealth. Similar forces which have foiled your plots thus far, I must point out,” the traveller hissed. “I reiterate my first remark.”

“It is all about sentiment, my lady,” Dumbledore answered coolly, “It may seem insignificant, yes, but this will serve not one, but two purposes: destroy a group of people young Mr. Potter is associating with—not to mention, a group of worthless Muggles; and second, create an incident between Magical America and the Commonwealth that will only lead to one outcome.”

“The plan only compliments our own,” said the second speaker, “Our mole in San Francisco is doing magnificent work. We have others in place just requiring the word. It's only a matter of timing. Once we leak the existence of the hidden research facility in San Francisco, the ICW—not to mention, the American Department of Magic—will be up in arms. And then. We strike.”

* * *

They couldn't have chosen a better day for the event. The sun beamed bright in a cloudless sky, with only a gentle breeze to send gentle ripples across the lake, enough to make the leaves in the trees rustle slightly.

The seats were already filled with guests, and the guest list was extensive. Sahrotaar and Paarthurnax had both landed a half hour before, and now rested comfortably on their pedestals which anchored the raised platform and canopy. The guest list included Jarls from three different holds: Balgruuf the Greater, from Whiterun; Laila Law-Giver, from the Rift; and Ulfric Stormcloak, from Windhelm. All three of them attended with their housecarls, as well as a few guards of their own. Balgruuf had been seated on the opposite side of the isle, just to avoid undue tension.

Queen Susan was also in attendance, along with a few of her support staff, and a detachment of SOU in formal dress. Of course, the security was being provided by the SOU, guards from Riften, as well as a large detachment of Stormcloaks. After all, the Rift was Stormcloak-controlled territory, and had been since Harry had first entered Skyrim. Harry's circle sat with the Queen's party, as did Brandon.

The Ragnar's captain, as well as a number of her crew were also in attendance, as were the entire membership of the College, and the entire membership of the guild (though they wore dress clothes rather than their standard guild armour). Mazhe had warned all of them to 'behave themselves', that the attendees were off limits to any sort of guild activity.

There was a strong delegation from Hogwarts, which included the current headmistress and most of the faculty. Joining them were the students and families uprooted from England.

Rounding out the attendees, were the Greybeards, who had chosen to be seated near the back, as well as a gathering of press from the Commonwealth. Initially, Harry was rather resistant to the press being present, but Justin had put him at ease, reminding him that the Commonwealth's press tended to keep things accurate. Beside the point, the Commonwealth had been overly kind to Harry, even after the government action that painted Harry in a terrible light. So, Harry relented. He smirked, knowing the story would break a lot of hearts, both in the Commonwealth, and elsewhere.

Just before 11 am, the ceremony got under way, with Harry waiting at the alter to the right of Maramal, a Redguard priest of Mara. It had taken only a brief conversation with him to set the plans for the ceremony in motion. Most weddings were conducted at the Temple of Mara in Riften, this one being one of the few exceptions.

There had been much debate about what to wear to the wedding. In the end, Harry had decided to go with the set of armour he'd recovered from a bandit during the encounter with Odahviing. It had been cleaned up and polished so the metal actually shined, and Harry most certainly looked imposing when he wore it.

Mazhe, meanwhile, walked up the centre isle to meet Harry at the alter. Unlike Harry, Mazhe had gone with his mages' robes, which were a blue shade with darker trim. They certainly contrasted one another, but neither really cared at this point. They at last met at the alter, and Maramal began:

“It was Mara that first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children.

“It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all.

“We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship.

“May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship.”

He turned to Harry. “Do you, Harry Potter, agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?”

“I do. Now and forever,” Harry answered, smiling broadly.

He then turned to Mazhe. “Do you, Mazhe Stormcrown, agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?”

“I do. Until we walk the afterlife, and forever after,” Mazhe answered, matching Harry's smile.

Maramal couldn't help but smile himself, as he reached back for a pair of rings. As he passed one to each of them, he spoke, “I present the two of you with matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together.”

He waited, while Harry placed the ring on Mazhe's ring finger, and Mazhe reciprocated the gesture with Harry.

Maramal then raised his hands over the two of their heads. “I present, Harry and Mazhe Stormcrown, now wed under the authority of Mara. May the gods bless them both with love and companionship until the end of their days.”(2)

Harry was warmed greatly by the thunderous round of applause from the assembled guests. And, as that died down, the air was punctured by two enormous plumes of flame which soared into the heavens, courtesy of Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar. Taking that as a cue, Harry and Mazhe embraced and kissed deeply, to more applause.

Now, Harry held up a hand, stilling the crowd. Mazhe arched an eyebrow.

“ _Fahdon ahrk yunaar wo lahvraan us mii_.”

“Friends and guests who gather before us,” Paarthurnax translated.

“ _To zu'u fen nutiid tokaan do ahdinaak ofanaht wah dii lokal, diist, zu'u nutiid voth pah do hi ol koriim._ ”

“Though I will present a number of special gifts to my love, the first, I present with all of you as witness,” Sahrotaar this time translated. 

Mazhe again arched an eyebrow, still wondering exactly what Harry was up to.

“The Tevelyan Symphony Orchestra and its singers, joined by 'New Directions', will now perform ' _Dragonborn_ ' —a special composition I have been working on since the end of Rain's Hand,” said Harry, reverting to the Common language, “Gratitude to Paarthurnax and Sahrotaar for their translation.”

That was the cue for the orchestra to begin, with the chorus beginning to chant in low tones. And now, Mazhe knew exactly what his mate had been up to with the kids from Ohio. The chorus broke their chant, launching into,

 

“ _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin las vahriin,_

_Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!_

_Ahrk fin norok pal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,_

_Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!_ ”(3)

 

Mazhe was blown away by the performance, all of it performed in  _Dovahzul_ . Equally impressive, it had taken only a few months for Harry to pull it all together—part of it while still under the threat of Voldemort. Though he would receive a number of gifts from Harry, this one would always mean the most.

As the song came to a close, both Mazhe and Harry were startled as Fawkes appeared in an explosion of golden flames, to then flutter down and land on Harry's shoulder, letting go a string of musical notes. It was truly uplifting, sending a wave of joyous energy forward.

Harry, however, felt something additional with the song, and knew at once what it meant. Fawkes had just bonded with him, forsaking his former bond. A dark cloud momentarily descended on him with the realization. They would face yet another monster in the future.

As Mazhe reached up and stroked the bird's feathers and the three of them celebrated the union, both young mages knew their battle was likely just beginning.

 

_FINITE INCANTATUM_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _FINAL NOTES: This draws “Orb of Magnus” to a close. I felt it appropriate to end on an ominous note, though Harry and Mazhe end with a joyous occasion. Most definitely, their adventure is not over, but I felt it was best to draw this story to a close, since the primary plot arc has been brought to a close. However, with Dumbledore now replacing Voldemort in many ways, there is still loads to tell, and a whole new adventure already taking shape. Do remember, there is a second prophecy at work, hence the working title of the second chronicle: “The Second Prophecy”._   
> _I'd like to thank everyone for tagging along for the ride, putting the story in your favourite list, putting it in your follow list, and of course, all of you who have left comments and reviews. Though I write for primarily my own entertainment, it does warm the heart (and stroke the ego just a little) to know that others do enjoy what I share._   
> _So, some final footnotes (just a few this time)..._   
> _(1) Puck's thievery and subsequent incarceration actually happens early in the second season of GLEE. I needed this to happen here, since I have a few ideas ongoing for the club, and for Puck, specifically. We'll see them all return for the second Chronicle. It's also ironic to note that, in season 5, Puck decides he wants to join the Air Force... so, perhaps he's getting what he wants, though a few years sooner ;-)_   
> _(2) Most of Maramal's dialogue here is verbatim from the game. (C) 2011, Bethesda/Zenimax._   
> _(3) This, of course, is the main theme to Skyrim, (C) Jeremy Soule. I have the soundtrack, and it's truly epic._


	40. Series Update - Order of the New Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet from Chapter 1 of "Order of the New Dawn", part 2 of "Chronicles of Valicadia", now being posted.

EXERT FROM CHAPTER 1, "ORDER OF THE NEW DAWN"

* * *

“Harry?”

He felt a hand reach up and touch his shoulder.

“B-bad dream.”

“I know, I get them sometimes, too,” said Mazhe, as they turned to face one another. Harry flicked a finger out, and '3:02 a' wafted from the tip.

“Gah, too early to get up.”

Unfortunately, noise out in the corridor put an end to his idea of going back to sleep. They'd only just returned from their vacation, wishing to spend a couple more days of down time before resuming any kind of schedule.

“Sounds like something's going on,” Mazhe said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and summoning a tee shirt. Harry was already doing the same. Less than a minute later, the pair were dressed, and stepped out into the corridor. Was that...

“Your grace? What... what's going on?” Harry questioned, worried, seeing Queen Susan and her protection detail now standing in his common room. A few others were with her, faces he didn't recognize, but didn't question it. If they were with the Queen, they were more than safe.

“We're going off-script, Harry,” the Queen answered, “Our standard protocols in an emergency were determined to be flawed.”

“What happened?”

“The city of Spiraminis was destroyed a few minutes ago with catastrophic losses,” the Queen answered, as she was led into the dining room.

“They reported some sort of vibration that had—“

“Harmonic resonance, a technique practised by warders and curse-breakers on occasion,” said Harry.

“Yes, indeed, but back to the point, the wards were crippled by the vibrations, and the city was forced to make a terrible choice.”

Mazhe looked confused. “They couldn't evacuate?”

“This happened about ten minutes ago, Mr. Stormcrown,” said the new speaker.

“Harry, Mazhe, I introduce Linda Hampton, my Royal Press Secretary, and her assistant, Lee Pearson.”

“Oh. Uh, pleasure,” said Mazhe, as they shook hands.

Harry was still confused. “But... reason behind so much death still escapes grasp. Why was evacuation not attempted?”

“The wards were already beginning to collapse when they got in touch with Trevelyan.” “What would've happened had the wards collapsed—I mean, would that have bought people time?” Mazhe questioned.

“Perhaps, at a far more terrifying price, Mazhe,” answered the Queen, “It would have created an instant, massive hole in the sea floor that would have covered about—“

“Seven hundred-fifty square kilometers, five hundred metres deep.”

“Jupiter's cock...” Harry barely whispered, as the realization set in. “Gods... that would end San Francisco, L.A., Vancouver, Tokyo, Hong Kong... such a wave is unfathomable. No coastal location in the Pacific would escape untouched.”

“A terrible sacrifice was made, to prevent one many times worse.”

“Her majesty, along with a number of other government officials have been moved to safe locations, until the wards which protect Trevelyan can be adjusted.”

“I do hope my temporary presence will not cause discomfort,” said the Queen.

“You do not impose, your grace,” Harry answered, “With Remus returning to his cottage, there is ample room available for you, and should you require it, we can most certainly relocate, so that you might borrow the entire flat.”

“I will not impose more than necessary, Harry. I do realize this is your home.”

“Harry, what—“ Brandon stopped short in the entrance to the dining room. “Y-your grace.” He bowed his head in respect.

“As you were, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Something tells me this isn't a social call.”

“No, it is not,” the Queen answered, gravely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after what, three years, I have began to post part 2 of "Chronicles", and also tied things together in a series. I do have a couple of ideas for additional snippets and so on, including an origin story of how the Commonwealth came to be.


End file.
